tibrarp  of  'the  'theological  ^ewmarjo 

PRINCETON  *  NEW  JERSEY 


PRESENTED  BY 

The  Estate  of  the 
Re  v .  J ohn  B .  W i e  6 .  i n£  e  r 

BX  9527  . P6  1923 

Poling,  Daniel  A.  1884-1968. 

What  men  need  most 


WHAT  MEN  NEED  MOST 


Rev.  DANIEL  A.  POLING,  utt.d.,  ll.d. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2019  with  funding  from 
Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


https://archive.org/details/whatmenneedmostoOOpoli 


WHAT  MEN  NEED  MOST 

and  Other  Sermons 


BY 

Rev.  DANIEL  A.  POLING,  litt.d.,  ll.d. 

CO-MINISTER  AT  THE  MARBLE  COLLEGIATE  CHURCH 

NEW  YORK 


NEW 


YORK 


GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1923, 

BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


WHAT  MEN  NEED  MOST.  II 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


To 

MY  FRIEND 

CHESTER  PAUL  GATES 

and 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  OTHER  FRIENDS 
GONE  BUT  NOT  AWAY 


FOREWORD 


The  first  twenty-three  chapters  which  follow  contain 
several  sermons  which  have  appeared  in  the  columns 
of  the  Christian  Herald  and  the  Christian  Endeavor 
World.  Appreciation  is  expressed  to  these  publications 
for  the  privilege  of  including  the  material  in  this  vol¬ 
ume.  Among  sermons  preached  in  connection  with  the 
pulpit  programme  of  the  Marble  Collegiate  Church  will 
be  found  several  that  were  prepared  for  special  oc¬ 
casions, — Easter,  Christmas,  New  Year’s  and  the  birth¬ 
day  anniversaries  of  Washington  and  Lincoln.  Two 
chapters  contain  as  many  special  citizenship  sermons, 
and  there  are  three  that  appeared  first  as  a  series, 
“Erom  the  Service.”  The  eight  concluding  chapters 
are  “Sermon  Stories”  delivered  before  young  people 
on  special  occasions  and  as  part  of  carefully  planned 
programmes. 


D.  A.  P. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

1,  What  Men  Need  Most  ....  13 

2  Clown  or  King? . 25 

3.  The  Greatest  Fact  of  History  .  .  36 

4  Three  Facts  and  a  Question  ...  46 

5  Dead  King  or  Living  Lord  ?  .  .58 

6.  Remember  Jesus  Christ  ....  68 

7.  What  the  Devil  Asked  .  .  .  .  76 

8.  The  Grip  that  Holds  ....  86 

9  Daniel,  the  Hebrew  Who  Purposed  .  95 

10  Extremity  and  Opportunity  .  .  .  102 

11  Conquerors  of  Circumstance  .  .  .  Ill 

12  From  the  Manger  to  the  Throne  .  .  122 

13  We  Finish  to  Begin . 132 

14  The  Light  that  Has  Never  Failed  .  .  141 

15  The  Call  of  the  New  Crusade  .  .  .  145 

16  The  Curse  of  Cowardice  ....  154 

17  Come  On  !  Let’s  Go  ! . 158 

18  _  “Lafayette,  We  Are  Here  !”  .  .  166 

19  Who  Won  the  War?  ....  176 

20  What  Is  War? . 187 

21  Civic  Grafters  .  .,  .  .  .  192 

ix 


X 

22 

23 

24 

25 

26 

27 

28 

29 

30 

31 


PAGE 

200 

205 

207 

210 

212 

214 

218 

221 

226 

230 


Contents 


Peesonal  Libeety 
Homesick  .... 
The  Man  Who  Was  Pardoned 
Lead  On,  Lokd  Jesus  !  . 

“Unto  the  .least” 

A  Heart  Stoey  . 

“He  Did  It”  .... 
My  Fiest  Peayee 
A  Pathee’s  Dilemma  . 

The  Land  of  Time  Enough 


WHAT  MEN  NEED  MOST 


1 


WHAT  MEN  NEED  MOST 

Text:  St.  John  12:  21.  “Sir,  we  would  see 
J  esus *y 

For  the  maintenance  of  physical  life  there  are  four 
absolute  necessities, — oxygen,  water,  food  and  sleep. 

Without  air  one  can  live  only  the  briefest  time.  Shut 
it  off,  and  almost  immediately  begins  the  torture  of 
suffocation.  A  little  more  than  five  years  ago  a  group 
of  forty  men  found  themselves  in  the  horror  of  im¬ 
pending  mustard-gas  immersion,  standing  together  in  a 
closely  sealed  dugout  room  of  Kambecourt,  north  from 
Toul  in  France.  The  lantern  light  played  fitfully  upon 
the  figures  whose  faces  were  covered  with  masks;  the 
earth  about  trembled  from  the  vibrations  of  great  guns 
just  behind  and  overhead.  Finely  minutes  passed,  and 
eyes  were  starting  from  their-  sockets,  blood  was  seep¬ 
ing  from  mucous  membranes,  bodies  were  wracked  with 
almost  unendurable  agonies.  Then,  with  swelling 
glands  and  fairly  bursting  lungs,  men  fought  to  keep 
their  reason.  When-  relief  came,  and  the  place  was 
unsealed,  to  those  who  staggered  out,  it  was  as  though 
a  hell  had  opened  into  heaven. 

One  may  survive  longer  without  water.  I  have 

never  known  the  extreme  torture  of  thirst.  But  what 

a  relief  is  a  spring  in  a  desert !  What  a  comfort  a 

living  stream  in  the  wilderness !  And  we  city  dwellers 

learn  to  respond  with  a  measure  of  enthusiasm  that 

13 


u 


What  Men  Need  Most 


reaches  at  times  a  restrained  ecstasy,  to  the  singing  of 
a  faucet.  We  are  troubled  when  an  unusually  long, 
dry  season  has  diminished  our  water  reserves  to  the 
point  where  caution  must  be  observed,  and  where  some 
may  feel  a  lack,  both  in  quality  and  quantity.  The 
lawns  become  a  distressing  sight.  What  richness  many 
of  the  figures  of  the  Psalmist  and  similes  of  J esus  have 
for  us,  in  such  a  time;  “As  the  hart  panteth  after  the 
water  brooks,77 — and  “Take  of  the  water  of  salvation.77 

It  is  not  many  years  since  practically  every  large  city 
of  America  was  subject  to  periodical  typhoid  epidemics, 
because  of  impure  drinking  water.  How  our  great  com¬ 
munities  are  in  almost  every  instance  immune  to  this 
former  plague.  Even  isolated  cases  are  becoming 
rare. 

A  few  weeks  ago  I  found  myself  following  the  high 
climbing  forest  trail  that  leads  to  the  mountain  lake 
which  is  the  natural  reservoir  of  Portland,  Oregon. 
After  leaving  the  automobile  at  the  point  where  the 
great  water  mains  begin  and  where  all  ordinary  trans¬ 
portation  ceases,  thirty  miles  from  the  city  itself,  we 
travelled  on  horseback  for  twenty-one  miles  through  a 
veritable  sylvan  paradise;  firs  towered  above  us  a  hun¬ 
dred  and  thirty  feet  “in  the  clear77  before  their  limbs 
began.  Where  the  trail  dipped  toward  the  river  which 
carries  the  lake  to  the  huge  pipes  below,  the  ferns  stood 
higher  than  our  heads  as  we  sat  our  horses,  and  once  we 
came  upon  a  cedar  forty-eight  feet  in  circumference. 
In  twenty-one  miles  we  passed  or  crossed  one  hundred 
and  thirty-six  living  springs  or  swiftly  flowing  moun¬ 
tain  torrents ;  or  one  such  natural  fountain  flowing  into 
that  central  river  from  the  north  as  it  hurried  downward 
from  the  great  lake  to  quench  the  city’s  thirst,  for  every 
two  hundred  and  seventy  yards  of  that  little  more  than 


What  Men  Need  Most 


15 


twenty  miles.  And  later  our  wonderment  was  to  be 
further  increased,  when  we  saw  the  river  itself  issue 
from  the  face  of  the  mountain,  as  though  from  the  very 
breast  of  nature.  For  half  a  mile  it  flows  under¬ 
ground  beneath  the  range.  The  unfailing  lake,  fed 
by  springs  and  snows,  hung  high  among  the  emerald 
hills,  has  no  outlet  human  eye  may  see.  Tens  of  thou¬ 
sands  of  people  in  the  valley  below  have  a  gigantic  and 
perfect  natural  water  filter,  the  like  of  which  is  found 
nowhere  else  in  the  world.  Yes,  there  is  life  or  death 
in  a  city’s  drinking  cup.  “Water  or  I  die,”  is  one  of 
the  inexorable  physical  ultimatums. 

One  may  survive  longer  still  without  food;  but  what 
a  terrifying  sight  starvation  is,  whether  it  be  a  colossal 
spectacle  spread  across  the  high  plateau  of  Armenia  or 
the  bleak  steppes  of  Russia,  or  whether  we  come  upon  it 
in  the  tenderly  kept  chamber  of  the  invalid  whose  mal¬ 
ady  no  longer  permits  nourishment  to  be  taken.  Ringing 
in  my  ears  as  I  turn  back  in  thought  across  the  years, 
is  the  cry  of  a  little  boy  who  could  not  eat, — a  little  boy 
about  to  die :  “Bread,  bread !  I  am  hungry, — give  me 
bread.”  Ah,  we  do  well  to  open  our  purses  at  the  invi¬ 
tation  of  such  agencies  as  the  Year  East  Relief.  And 
in  our  great  American  cities  there  is  always  the  threat 
of  starvation  for  some,  a  threat  we  dare  not  ignore. 

But  the  question  of  food  has  become  tremendously 
complicated  in  our  time.  The  abandoned  farms  of  Yew 
England  are  a  growing  cause  of  anxiety, — the  falling 
price  of  wheat  a  growing  menace.  Has  it  ever  occurred 
to  you  that  Yew  York  City,  Chicago,  Philadelphia, 
Boston,  and  the  rest,  are  helpless,  and  perhaps  pres¬ 
ently  starving,  giants?  They  cannot  feed  themselves, 
and  their  country  cousins  seem  to  be  tiring  of  the  task. 
What  a  problem  is  here  suggested, — a  problem  that  a 


16 


What  Men  Need  Most 


congressional  grain  subsidy  will  never  solve ;  a  problem 
that  has  to  do  with  foreign  markets,  quite  as  much  as 
it  has  to  do  with  domestic  markets;  a  problem  that  is 
as  international  as  it  is  internal ;  a  problem,  my 
friends,  that  our  so-called  “splendid  isolation”  has  not 
solved  nor  lessened. 

In  its  more  personal  aspects,  its  more  individual 
phases,  the  question  of  food  is  to-day  not  at  all  as  it 
was  even  a  decade  ago.  “Have  you  had  your  calories  V9 
is  a  modern  query;  “How  to  Live,”  the  standard  text 
of  the  Life  Extension  Institute,  a  rather  recent  publi¬ 
cation.  But  I  am  not  one  to  decry  the  science  of  cor¬ 
rect  eating,  nor  would  I  belittle  the  profession  of  the 
dietitian.  My  observations  convince  me  that  to-day 
more  people  are  eating  themselves  to  death  than  other¬ 
wise.  Conditions  have  changed  since  the  clearing  of 
the  pioneer,  with  the  forests  and  streams  surrounding 
it,  provided  practically  everything  he  and  his  sturdy 
outdoor  family  ate;  and  our  manner  of  life  is  so  dif¬ 
ferent  now  that  for  us  to  eat  what  and  as  our  fathers 
ate,  is  suicide,  nor  is  it  always  slow. 

A  few  years  since  I  awoke  to  find  myself  spending 
nearly  all  of  my  time  in  my  study;  doing  practically 
no  physical  labour,  but  remaining  absolutely  faithful  to 
the  meat,  bread  and  Irish  potato  menu  of  my  days  in 
the  sawmill  and  logging  camp.  Modern  white  bread, 
we  are  told  by  practical  scientists,  paves  the  wav  to  a 
vast  number  of  physical  ailments  for  our  children. 
You  who  recall,  as  I  do,  the  steaming,  vast  and  fragrant 
loaves  of  our  unscientific  childhood,  will  do  well  to  be 
reminded,  as  I  have  been,  that  white  bread  is  different 
now;  that  the  perfections  of  the  modern  miller’s  art 
have  refined  it  until  it  is  of  itself  alone,  too  fine  to  hold 
the  coarse  and  sturdy  elements  that  in  a  cruder  time 


What  Men  Need  Most 


17 


made  brawn  and  brain.  Ah,  bow  far-reaching  and  how 
complicated  has  become  that  simple  cry  of  a  hungry 
child,  “Bread,  bread!  I  am  hungry;  give  me  bread.” 

Again,  one  may  survive  longer  without  sleep;  but 
one  of  the  most  excruciating  tortures  of  the  Dark  Ages 
was  the  walking  agony ;  the  keeping  of  prisoners  awake 
until  they  became  gibbering  idiots  or  fell  dead  before 
their  inquisitors.  Life,  without  the  complete  relaxation 
of  sleep,  is  impossible.  Some  require  more  sleep  than 
others;  children  are  especially  dependent  upon  it;  a 
distinguished  inventor  is  said  to  get  along  famously 
with  an  almost  unbelievably  short  time  in  bed.  But 
no  man  can  long  survive  absolute  insomnia.  How  much 
attention  our  physician  gives  to  our  sleeping  habits 
now.  Are  you  subject  to  cold?  What  does  the  health 
column  in  your  daily  paper  say  ?  “Lots  of  fresh  water ; 
good,  nourishing  food  regularly,  and  at  least  eight  hours 
of  sleep  in  twenty-four, — at  least  eight.” 

I  am  entirely  out  of  harmony  with  the  night  schedules 
of  many  American  homes, — dances,  theatre  parties  and 
moonlight  rides  for  juveniles  make  pale  and  puny 
people  to  do  the  world’s  work,  and  plan  the  world’s 
play.  Back  to  the  old  motto,  “Early  to  bed  and  early 
to  rise,” — but  with  the  emphasis,  the  immediate  em¬ 
phasis  for  our  great  cities,  upon  “Early  to  bed.” 

And  now,  because  there  are  some  sadly  troubled 
people  who  are  having  a  hard  time  to  follow  their  doc¬ 
tor’s  prescription,  who  are,  as  I  once  fought,  fighting 
to  fall  asleep,  let  me  say  just  these  words  of  encourage¬ 
ment.  We  really  sleep  more  than  we  think  we  do. 
Slumber  is  swift  while  sleeplessness  is  appallingly 
slow.  One  hour,  two  hours,  and  three  pass  as  an  age, 
while  the  rest  of  the  night  is  a  flash.  And  men  who 
know,  tell  us  that  we  also  have  wee  naps  we  do  not 


18 


What  Men  Need  Most 


remember,  that  we  “drop  off”  when  we  are  quite  sure 
we  have  been  boring  holes  in  the  darkness  with  wide¬ 
awake  eyes  unceasingly.  And  at  any  rate,  no  person 
ever  wins  sleep  who  fights  for  her.  After  an  accident 
of  some  time  ago,  when  for  many  nights  I  had  turned 
back  insomnia’s  anguish  with  only  poor  success,  a  wise 
practitioner  said,  “Well,  to-night  begin  by  saying,  ‘I’ll 
not  worry;  I’ll  rest,  since  I  cannot  sleep.  I’ll  rest 
eight  hours,  or  two, — rest  with  my  eyes  open  until  they 
fall  closed ;  I’ll  have  repose  and  relaxation.  Others  get 
along  with  five  hours ;  I’ll  be  comfortable  with  as  many 
or  less !’  ”  And  the  big  principle  buried  in  my  friend’s 
counsel  had  its  vindication, — immediately  I  began  to 
recover. 

But  sleep  goes  along  with  air,  food  and  water.  These 
four  absolute  necessities  are  strangely  as  well  as 
strongly  related.  Let  the  organs  of  respiration  be 
affected  by  impure  or  poisoned  air,  and  we  become  the 
victims  of  wild  nightmares  and  dream  terrors ;  and  have 
we  not  all  of  us  learned  the  folly  of  asking  the  mind  to 
carry  repose  while  the  stomach  is  burdened  with  the 
mixed  dainties  of  modem  man’s  gastronomic  adven¬ 
tures  ? 

Yes,  for  the  maintenance  of  physical  life,  there  are 
four  absolute  necessities, — oxygen,  water,  food  and 
sleep. 

But  if  life  is  to  be  more  and  better  than  bare  exist¬ 
ence,  there  are  other  necessities;  if  life  is  to  be  well- 
rounded,  fruitful  and  happy,  we  must  have  more  than 
bread  to  live  by.  The  lowliest  brute  breathes,  drinks, 
eats  and  sleeps,  and  remains  a  brute. 

On  our  physical  side  we  will  do  well  to  consider  the 
claims  of  exercise,  especially  we  of  the  office  and  bank, 
who  have  a  tendency  to  waist  extension  rather  than 


What  Men  Need  Most 


19 


chest  expansion.  Now  and  then  one  finds  the  exception 
to  the  rule.  I  have  known  a  man  of  eighty  who  was  hale 
and  hearty  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  habitually  he  never 
walked  when  he  could  ride,  and  who  slept  with  his 
windows  tightly  closed.  Such  an  exception  proves  the 
rule  for  most  of  us,  however. 

Best  and  recreation  are  necessities,  too.  From  the 
fierce  clamours  of  our  cities  we  must  periodically  find 
relief,  or  become  nervous  wrecks,  and,  worse,  nerve 
mannikins.  We  need  to  place  another  emphasis  upon 
recreation  and  make  it  in  our  vacation  season,  in  our 
holiday,  however  short,  a  re-creation.  Unless  we  do, 
we  will  find  ourselves  dreaming  of  times  when  we  will 
turn  aside  to  enjoy  a  well-earned  relaxation,  and  play, 
but  coming  into  an  early  old  age,  a  premature  decrepi¬ 
tude,  with  our  dreams  unrealised. 

I  have  seen  a  mansion  of  a  hundred  rooms  on  Long 
Island,  which  the  builder  never  occupied.  He  died  at 
his  desk  the  day  before  he  was  to  have  moved  in.  The 
newspaper  accounts  stated  among  other  things  that  he 
had  never  taken  a  vacation. 

But  perhaps  our  order  has  been  inverted.  To  place 
an  emphasis  upon  rest  and  recreation  implies  that 
work  has  a  large  and  fundamental  place  in  the  scheme 
of  life.  Is  it  not  an  absolute  necessity  to  generous, 
worth-while  living?  Pity  the  person  without  a  task, 
a  task  worth  giving  body  and  heart  to.  The  electrical 
wizard  Steinmetz  was  credited  with  saying,  a  little 
while  ago,  that  presently  electricity  would  be  so  applied 
as  to  make  possible  doing  the  menial,  the  drudgery 
tasks  of  society,  in  four  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four, 
leaving  for  us  all,  twenty  in  which  to  find  repose  and 
enjoyment.  Even  with  such  a  programme,  such  a  divi¬ 
sion  of  time,  the  world  would  be  far  from  an  ideal 


20 


What  Men  Need  Most 


society  unless  our  minds  and  souls  had  been  schooled 
to  appreciate  and  rightly  use  the  time. 

I  have  known  men  and  women  who  really  seemed  to 
love  that  which  others  called  drudgery, — the  old  cob¬ 
bler  of  our  childhood  town,  the  venerable  farmer  who 
made  our  first  time  away  from  home  a  garden  of  happy 
recollections,  and  the  singing  laundress  who  said  that 
she  preferred  washing  (and  that  before  the  day  of 
power  washers)  to  dusting.  These  had  a  philosophy 
that  others  would  be  happier  for  learning.  Perhaps  if 
I  cannot  come  into  the  task  that  I  have  longed  for,  I 
can  fall  in  love  with  the  one  that  I  have. 

Ah,  and  how  friends  have  become  a  necessity, — an 
absolute  necessity  in  my  life !  Who  would  live  without 
them?  And  could  we?  Unconsciously  we  lean  upon 
them ;  they  are  part  of  our  unexposed,  innermost  being, 
— true  friends,  I  mean,  deeply  true,  vastly  intimate, 
friends  who  are  not  questioned  and  could  not  be.  With 
such  a  friend  I  stood  one  evening  by  the  open  grave 
of  another  friend,  and  later  when  I  spoke  of  our  in¬ 
frequent  visits,  our  irregular  letters,  our  wide  separa¬ 
tions,  he  replied,  “Yes,  and  how  great  a  thing  it  is  to 
possess  a  friendship  that  does  not  stand  at  last  upon 
even  its  most  delightful  forms,  that  does  not  depend 
upon  pen  or  contact  or  speech !” 

Again,  life  needs  to-day,  needs  imperatively,  a  great 
ambition.  Woe  is  the  man  who  never  hears  a  high 
call,  in  whose  ears  never  sounds  a  mighty  shout  of 
challenge.  Woe  is  such  a  man,  for  his  character  has 
in  it  a  fatal  defect;  something, — something  vital,  has 
been  left  out.  A  great  English  mountain-climber  on 
being  asked  why  he  took  the  risks  involved  in  climbing 
Mt.  Blanc,  replied,  “Because  Mt.  Blanc  is  there.” 
When  I  read  of  each  fresh  attempt  to  swim  the  English 


What  Men  Need  Most  21 

Channel,  I  find  something  elemental  stirring  within 
my  own  breast. 

Do  I  hear  you  say,  “A  useless  waste  of  time  and 
energy77  ?  Well,  nearly  so,  I  grant,  but  at  least  an 
indication  of  the  fact  that  the  divine  fire  burns  and 
needs  only  to  be  given  a  better  torch.  Another  follows 
the  same  gleam  to  find  an  elusive  disease  germ  and  iso¬ 
late  it.  Youth,  with  the  passion  of  it  in  his  blood, 
dedicates  his  life  to  a  great  cause;  becomes  a  Gough, 
or  John  G.  Woolley  of  prohibition,  a  Love  joy  or  Gar¬ 
rison  of  emancipation;  a  Lincoln  of  patriotism. 

Ah,  and  the  distraught  times  in  which  we  live  wait 
on  men  and  women  to  hear  high  ambition’s  call  to-day. 
The  East  Side  of  Jacob  Riis  is  crying  for  his  spiritual 
descendants.  A  thousand  cities  of  this  continent  alone 
need  as  many  Hull  Houses,  and  the  terrifying  war 
clouds  which  stand  again  along  the  horizon  of  Europe 
remind  us  that  we  have  done  little  enough  to  keep  our 
promise;  that  we  have  scarcely  inconvenienced  our¬ 
selves  to  strengthen  society  against  the  bloody-mawed 
monster  of  armed  conflict.  What  a  generation  for  the 
soul  of  ardent,  generous,  Jehovah-led  youth  to  come 
upon!  Here  is  the  new  impossible  to  be  dared;  here 
is  the  new  earth  waiting  for  new-born  men  and  women 
to  give  it  birth. 

We  have  come  quite  naturally  now  to  what  man  needs 
most — to  his  supreme  necessity.  Is  it  health?  Ho. 
Is  it  water?  Ho,  it  is  not.  Is  it  food?  Ho.  Is  it 
sleep?  Ho,  it  is  none  of  these  nor  is  it  all  of  them. 
Hor  is  it  rest,  recreation,  friends,  work,  ambition;  nor 
is  it  the  divine  fire  of  an  overwhelming  compulsion. 
What  does  man  need  most  ? 

But  first  we  must  know  two  things  about  man, — these 
two  things.  Where  does  he  come  from — what  is  he  ? 


22 


What  Men  Need  Most 


And  where  is  he  going — what  is  he  to  be  ?  There  are 
certain  living  creatures  which  die  when  their  physical 
environment  is  changed;  in  these  species  tragedy  fol¬ 
lows  tragedy,  until  a  careful  study  has  been  made  of 
the  creature  itself,  and  until  the  fundamental  things 
about  its  life  are  known,  its  peculiar  needs  supplied. 

Thus  it  is  with  man.  Give  him  breath  and  bread, 
drink  and  repose, — all  of  these, — but  give  him  nothing 
more,  and  he  will  die,  for  man  has  come  from  God,  and 
his  destiny  is  heaven-born.  His  soul  is  restless  until 
it  rests  in  Him :  all  of  the  physical  necessities,  however 
abundantly  supplied,  are  not  enough.  And  so,  after  he 
has  tested  every  other,  man  comes  at  last,  as  came  the 
Greeks  of  the  text,  with  the  importunate  request,  “Sir, 
we  would  see  Jesus.”  We  would  see  Jesus,  not  the 
disciples,  nor  the  high  priest,  hut  Jesus.  Sir,  we  would 
see  Jesus:  We  would  see  Jesus,  for  He  alone  can  for¬ 
give  our  sins,  cover  them  with  the  divine  alchemy  of 
His  forgetfulness,  until  the  corrosion  of  our  blighting 
remorse  is  arrested.  We  would  see  Jesus,  for  He  alone 
can  satisfy  our  insatiate  thirst;  He  alone  can  give  us 
peace.  We  would  see  Jesus, — Jesus  of  the  well,  who 
cries,  “Whosoever  shall  drink  of  this  water  shall  thirst 
again;  but  whosoever  shall  drink  of  the  water  that  I 
shall  give  him  shall  never  thirst,  for  the  water  that  I 
shall  give  him  shall  be  in  him  a  well  of  water  spring¬ 
ing  up  into  eternal  life.”  We  would  see  Jesus  and 
know  His  companionship,  for  earthly  friends,  however 
true,  must  fail  us  in  the  end;  the  father  stands  upon 
the  threshold  of  the  innermost  chamber  of  his  child’s 
suffering,  and  struggles  to  enter,  but  cannot ;  the 
mother  bends  low  over  the  fevered  brow  of  her  now 
unconscious  darling,  and  with  travail  of  soul  heats 
against  the  inexorable  provision  that  places  a  limit 


What  Men  Need  Most 


23 


upon  her  ministry.  Ah,  we  would  see  Jesus,  for  He 
crosses  the  threshold,  he  takes  captivity  captive,  and 
with  Him  there  is  no,  “Thus  far  shalt  thou  come  and 
no  farther.”  Out  to  the  end  of  the  world  He  goes  with 
us;  brother  to  every  human  woe  is  He;  healer  of  the 
last  agony;  comforter  of  the  deepest  sorrow,  and  cap¬ 
tain  of  our  salvation.  The  importunate  cry  of  the  text 
is  the  voice  of  every  language;  it  is  the  voice  of  the 
multitude  surging  about  these  ancient  foundations,  the 
multitude  that  all  unknowing  passes  by.  Somehow 
these  must  be  led  to  find  Him. 

“We  would  see  Jesus.”  Hen  and  women,  do  you 
hear  it?  It  is  a  supplication  and  a  challenge, — a  sup¬ 
plication  and  a  challenge  to  the  church  first  of  all.  One 
winter  Sunday  night  at  the  close  of  an  evangelistic 
service,  in  response  to  a  special  invitation,  a  man  in 
one  of  the  rear  pews  of  a  great  church  raised  his  hand. 
Later,  while  in  a  personal  conference  with  the  minister, 
he  confessed  his  sins  to  his  Maker,  called  upon  the 
name  of  his  Saviour,  and  found  forgiveness  and  peace. 
His  first  words,  as  he  rose  from  his  knees,  will  remain 
with  that  preacher  so  long  as  he  lives.  O  Church  of 
God,  hear  them;  these  were  the  words,  spoken  not  in 
bitterness,  but  in  great  surprise, — “How  does  it  happen 
that  for  twenty  years,  because  I  promised  my  mother, 
I  have  been  going  to  at  least  one  church  service  every 
week,  sometimes  Catholic,  sometimes  Protestant,  and 
last  Sunday  night  was  the  first  time  I  was  ever  given 
a  chance  to  get  to  the  foot  of  the  Cross  ?”  Sir,  we  would 
see  Jesus! 

That  cry  sounds  like  a  wail  of  death  above  the  rav¬ 
ished  cities  of  the  Hear  East  where  so-called  Christian 
nations  have  signed  the  terms  of  Mahomet  the  bloody. 
“We  would  see  Jesus.  We  have  seen  the  statesmen  and 


24 


What  Men  Need  Most 


the  warriors;  we  have  heard  their  promises,  and  in  a 
delirium  of  joy  have  shouted  the  praises  of  those  we 
acclaimed  as  our  emancipators,  only  to  find  that  again 
we  had  been  deceived.  Now  we,  a  broken  remnant,  in 
hospitals  and  refugee  camps,  in  orphanages  and  secluded 
mountain  fastnesses, — we  would  see  Jesus.” 

This  is  the  cry  of  every  division  in  our  complicated 
society.  I  hear  it  in  the  coal  conferences  and  in  steel — 
We  would  see  Jesus!  and  see  Jesus  it  is  or  know  again 
the  hardship  of  strike  and  of  lockout;  see  Jesus  and 
find  the  Jesus  way,  or  fail,  fail  and  face  again  the 
empty  furnace  of  the  poor  and  the  bitterness  of  indus¬ 
trial  strife. 

Here  is  a  programme  in  idealism, — and  only  such  a 
programme  has  even  the  promise  of  success.  All  others 
have  already  and  absolutely  failed.  Here  is  a  pro¬ 
gramme  in  idealism  founded  upon  the  Decalogue  and 
illumined  by  the  light  that  lighteth  every  man  coming 
into  the  world :  a  programme  in  idealism  that  declares 
its  ultimatums  in  terms  like  these:  “Thou  shalt  not 
kill;  thou  shalt  not  covet;  thou  shalt  not  steal;  thou 
shalt  not  hear  false  witness ;”  and  that  trumpets  its 
great  summation,  “Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  thy  God 
with  all  thy  heart,  and  thy  neighbour  as  thyself.” 

Only  one  thing  remains  to  he  said.  Those  who  came 
seeking  Jesus  in  the  story  of  the  text,  sought  an  intro¬ 
duction  from  those  who  knew  Him.  The  supreme  busi¬ 
ness  of  the  Christian  Church  is  the  introducing  of  men 
and  women  and  society  to  J esus  Christ.  But  only  those 
who  know  Him  themselves  are  competent  to  introduce 
others  to  Him. 

It  is  the  cry  of  a  dying  world:  Sir,  we  would  see 
Jesus.  My  friends,  are  we,  we  of  the  church,  prepared 
to  answer  that  cry? 


2 


CLOWN  OR  KING? 

Text  :  Proverbs  23:  7.  “For  as  he  thinketU 
in  his  heart  so  is  he 

In  other  times  the  difference  between  a  clown  and  a 
king  was  frequently  the  distance  between  a  step  and 
a  throne.  They  were  very  close  together,  but  with  this 
distinction, —one  sat  or  grovelled  at  the  feet  of  the 
other.  As  a  rule,  one  thing  they  had  in  common, — 
the  accident  of  birth.  Each  was  as  he  was  born, — a 
clown  or  a  king,  a  fool  or  a  monarch ;  one  wore  a  cap, 
the  other  a  crown;  one  held  a  bauble,  the  other  a 
sceptre.  And  it  is  whispered  that  there  were  instances 
in  which  headdress  might  have  been  exchanged  and 
stations  reversed,  without  grief  to  society. 

To-day  the  clown  and  the  king  are  physically  even 
closer  together,  though  in  reality  they  are  farther  apart ; 
for  now,  by  the  measure  of  his  thinking,  a  man  is  a 
clown  or  a  king.  Eor  as  he, — fool  or  monarch, — think" 
eth  in  his  heart,  so  is  he. 

The  words,  more  literally  translated,  are,  “For,  as  he 

calculates  with  himself,  so  is  he,”  and  in  their  setting 

refer  to  a  selfish  and  evil-minded  host  who  while  he 

with  words  urges  his  guests  to  enjoy  his  viands,  in  his 

heart  resents  their  presence  at  his  table.  With  fine 

directness  the  Psalmist  tells  us  that  such  a  host  is  not 

as  his  words  or  his  wealth,  but  as  his  thinking;  that  he 

25 


26 


What  Men  Need  Most 


is  little  and  mean  because  of  his  thoughts,  that  his  cal¬ 
culations,  the  arithmetic  of  his  soul,  make  him  a  clown. 

If  we  accept  this  standard,  if  we  apply  the  text,  birth 
and  station  have  little  if  anything  at  all  to  do  with 
civilisation’s  real  aristocracy.  For,  as  men  and  women 
think,  deeply  think,  so  they  are, — clowns  or  kings. 

But  we  are  surrounded  to-day, — and  it  is,  I  suppose, 
quite  natural  for  us  to  feel,  as  never  before, — with  temp¬ 
tations  to  think  small  and  cynical  thoughts.  Surely  the 
times  are  selfish.  Men  of  large  affairs  have  been  almost 
daily  quoted  as  saying  that  following  the  war  the  motto 
of  business  seemed  to  be,  “Make  up  for  lost  time, — get 
yours  and  get  it  quick.”  Government  investigations 
still  incomplete  reveal  a  sickening  degree  of  faithless¬ 
ness  and  an  appalling  amount  of  profiteering  on  the 
homeward  side  of  the  Atlantic.  Recently  the  daily 
press  carried  a  story  of  peonage  in  Florida  that  makes 
Uncle  Tom’s  Cabin  look  like  a  pallid  nursery  story, — 
a  boy  sent  to  a  convict  camp  for  being  a  trespasser  on 
a  freight  train,  sent  into  slavery  by  a  county  sheriff 
who  was  given  $20.00  a  head  for  each  man  delivered 
to  this  particular  lumber  company,  a  sheriff  who  on  his 
own  testimony  disregarded  a  registered  letter  from  the 
lad’s  family  and  ordered  a  misleading  message  returned. 
Picture,  if  you  will,  this  under-nourished  youth  from 
a  respectable  Dakota  home,  who  had  rashly  started  out 
to  see  the  world, — and  while  you  do  so,  remember  your 
own  youth: — working  ankle-deep  in  the  swamp  muck, 
stricken  with  weakness,  smitten  with  fever,  stumbling 
and  falling;  and  then  hear  the  sing  of  a  seven-pound 
mule-whip  as  it  wraps  itself  around  that  white  back  for 
a  hundred  lashes,  and  as  for  extra  measure  the  flogger 
beats  his  helpless  prisoner’s  head  with  its  weighted 
handle.  Remember,  men  and  women  of  a  proud  civili- 


27 


Clown  or  King? 

sation,  that  this  murder  occurred  in  connection  with  a 
state-wide  system,  and  in  America, — the  United  States 
of  America, — under  the  sanction  of  law,  and  on  the 
estate  of  a  law-maker,  at  the  hands  of  a  duly-authorised 
brute  who  worked  for  a  legally  incorporated  lumber 
company. 

Heaven  pity  us  for  feeling  ourselves  superior  to  the 
Turk  and  for  looking  askance  at  the  Bolshevist.  The 
record  of  our  American  civilisation  in  peonage,  in 
lynchings,  where  the  black  man  has  been  the  chief  vic¬ 
tim,  in  child-labour  and  in  industrial  slavery,  for  the 
last  quarter  century,  is,  at  times,  and  in  spots,  enough 
to  shame  us  before  God  and  man.  It  should  send  us 
in  sackcloth  and  ashes  to  the  feet  of  the  one  who  said, 
“Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  the  least  of  one  of 
these  ...  ye  have  done  it  unto  me.” 

So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  do  not  hold  myself  as 
free  of  the  shame,  merely  because  my  hands  did  not 
swing  that  instrument  of  torture.  I  am  an  American, 
and  until  these  evil  matters  have  been  adjusted,  these 
wrongs  righted,  these  blasphemies  against  the  democ¬ 
racy  Washington  and  his  associates  established,  and 
Abraham  Lincoln  suffered  martyrdom  to  save, — -until 
these  blasphemies,  I  say,  have  been  utterly  repudiated 
by  law,  and  completely  destroyed  in  practice,  I  shall 
feel  myself  as  one  citizen,  to  the  reach  of  my  voice  and 
the  limit  of  my  ability,  responsible . 

Yes,  our  present  environment  has  a  tendency  to  in¬ 
spire  cynical  and  small  thinking.  The  Hew  York 
Times  of  April  18th,  1923,  carried  a  statement  from 
Commissioner  Haynes,  saying  that  thirty-three  Federal 
enforcement  agents  had  been  killed  outright  by  boot¬ 
leggers  while  in  the  line  of  duty, — murdered  by  liquor 
outlaws,  and  that  more  than  three  hundred  others  had 


28 


What  Men  Need  Most 


suffered  gunshot  wounds  of  a  more  or  less  serious  na¬ 
ture, — and  we  still  have  a  laugh  for  a  bootlegger’s  joke ! 
By  the  sorrow  of  the  widows  and  the  fatherless  of  these 
thirty-three  who  died  in  defence  of  the  law, — not  this 
law  alone,  hut  the  law  that  protects  us, — I  cry 
Shame. 

Again,  the  experiences  of  our  own  lives  have  a  tend¬ 
ency  to  incite  the  mind  to  morbid  thinking.  Where  are 
the  dreams,  the  hopes  of  youth,  or,  as  the  poet  has  it, 
“the  loves  of  yesteryear”  ?  Behind  the  majority  of  you 
are  little  shoes  in  treasure-boxes, — tiny  things  that  were 
never  worn  out ;  faded  roses  of  memory  in  dusty  frames 
of  recollection;  or  houses  of  high  ambition  that  were 
mortgaged  to  the  necessity  of  a  fateful  hour  of  need; 
or  the  perfidy  of  a  business  associate  perhaps,  or,  yet 
more  terrible,  the  treason  of  a  friend;  failure  in  busi¬ 
ness,  the  tumbled  ruins  of  a  structure  raised  by 
economy  and  self-denial  and  the  calloused  hands  of 
hard  work ;  or  physical  visitations  that  have  bowed  a 
once-proud  form  and  lined  a  smooth  and  placid  brow 
with  the  deep  furrows  of  pain  unutterable.  And  be¬ 
hind  all  of  us  is  disillusionment, — we  have  come  to 
know  the  world,  each  other, — and — ourselves.  Once 
we  believed  all  things  and  hoped  all  things;  now  we 
count  the  cost ;  anticipate  the  settlement,  doubt  the 
wisdom  of  the  enterprise,  for  time  has  led  us  to  the 
tree  of  knowledge,  and  we  have  eaten  of  its  bitter 
fruit. 

Yes,  our  own  experiences  make  royal  thinking  dif¬ 
ficult.  It  is  not  hard  to  dream  when  you  lie  in  the 
sunshine  upon  the  green  grass  of  unenlightened  child¬ 
hood.  Then  it  is  not  hard  to  hope  and  plan.  To-day 
we  stand  mature  and  scared  by  old  graves,  beneath  skies 
that  have  frowned  at  least  as  often  as  they  have  smiled. 


Clown  or  King ?  29 

In  the  once-shining  casket  that  our  youth  gave  us  is  a 
pierced  and  shrunken  heart. 

The  log  of  any  city  church  for  a  single  week  is  mel¬ 
ancholy  reading, — men  out  of  work;  home  providers 
sick;  mothers  distracted;  children  undernourished. 
Yes,  the  times  in  which  we  exist  are  conducive  to  in¬ 
fidelity  in  thought. 

But  do  you  think  that  I  would  have  said  as  much 
as  I  have  said,  if  this  were  all  to  he  said?  With  the 
facts  before  me,  with  these  experiences,  many  of  them 
blazed  upon  my  body  and  my  soul,  I  bring  a  message 
not  of  despair,  but  one  altogether  of  hope.  These  suf¬ 
ferings  and  disappointments  and  disillusionments  and 
tragedies  do  not  make  you  a  pessimist,  a  cynic,  an  in¬ 
fidel,  a  mental  clown.  Ho,  only  your  thinking.  As 
you  think  in  your  heart,  in  your  innermost  mind, — 
and  the  Hebrew  word  here  may  be  translated  mind 
as  well  as  heart, — as  you  think  in  your  innermost 
mind,  that  you  are.  Are  you  broken,  wrecked  in  body, 
ruined  in  purse,  bereft  in  loved  ones,  forgotten,  de¬ 
serted,  defeated  %  If  you  would  rise  from  the  steps  of 
the  clown  to  the  throne,  if  you  would  be  king,  then  claim 
imperial  thoughts  and  think  a  king. 

A  man  lay  upon  a  white  bed  with  consciousness  just 
returning,  and  with  consciousness  came  pain, — pain 
excruciating,  unbearable,  destroying.  The  opiates 
brought  the  mercy  of  stupor ;  then  consciousness,  again 
with  pain.  Days  passed  and  weeks.  One  morning  the 
sufferer,  now  a  convalescent,  turned  his  eyes  toward  the 
window,  just  in  time  to  see  a  tiny  spider  cast  off  from 
the  awning  and  drop  with  his  first  web  cable  to  an 
anchorage  on  the  sill.  Bor  hours  now  the  man  lay  with 
his  eyes  upon  that  marvellous  spectacle,  the  spinning 
of  a  web.  He  became  less  conscious  of  his  body  as  he 


30 


What  Men  Need  Most 


took  new  lif  ewvithin  his  mind ;  he  was  like  a  child,  and 
with  the  secretiveness  of  a  child, — and  as  a  result  came 
tragedy.  The  nurse  rolled  up  the  awning  at  sunset,  and 
‘destroyed  the  half-spun  web. 

The  man  was  senselessly,  violently,  disturbed,  and 
had  a  very  bad  night;  but  when  his  mind  had  cleared 
from  the  sleeping  potion  in  the  morning,  and  he  turned 
again,  half  fearfully,  toward  the  window,  the  little  fel¬ 
low  was  busy  once  more  and  now  in  safety,  for  even  the 
nurse  would  not  risk  another  outburst  on  the  part  of 
her  patient.  The  spider  went  on  to  complete  his  task, 
and  through  the  long  August  days  he  swung  there  in 
his  castle»and  den,  ’twixt  the  sunlight  and  shadow,  while 
the  watcher’s  mind  caught  the  glory  of  the  lesson  and 
his  will  set  itself  to  the  herculean  task  of  building  up 
again  the  broken  walls  of  his  body. 

It  is  not  the  experience  that  makes  you  what  you 
are, — it  is  your  thinking.  Paul  wrote  Philippians, — 
his  joy  letter,  his  epistle  of  gladness, — while  chained 
and  in  a  Roman  dungeon.  “I  thank  God  for  every 
remembrance  of  you,  always  in  every  prayer  of  mine 
for  you  all,  making  request  with  joy.”  Thus  does  the 
prisoner,  the  buffeted,  flogged,  stoned  and  ship-wrecked, 
herald  of  the  cross,  thank  God  for  remembrance,  and 
pray  with  joy.  It  is  not  the  experience  that  makes  you 
what  you  are, — it  is  what  you  think. 

And  this  same  period  of  history  which  sees  us  re¬ 
luctantly  and  under  pressure  abolishing  flogging  and 
convict  leasing, — this  same  generation  which  sees  so- 
called  Christian  nations  exploiting  oil  concessions  at 
the  expense  of  Christian  minorities,  and  throwing  a 
gambler’s  dice  down  the  line  of  international  boun¬ 
daries, — which  witnesses  sabotage  on  the  one  hand  and 
industrial  slavery  on  the  other,  which  crucifies  priests 


31 


Clown  or  King ? 

in  Russia  and  lynches  negroes  in  America,  this  same 
generation  has  produced  the  wireless,  that  phantom 
ministry  of  enlightenment  and  pleasure  which  makes 
the  ether  above  us  a  shoreless  sea  of  song,  bearing 
richly  laden  ships  of  culture;  has  found  new  worlds 
beyond  the  suns  above  us  and  new  riches  beneath  our 
feet,  has  given  us  a  way  of  travel  down  the  path  of  the 
lightnings,  has  brought  to  our  suffering  humanity  new 
cures  for  disease,  relief  and  postponement  for  incurable 
maladies  and  has  enlarged  the  key  of  charity  until  now 
it  opens  the  world’s  store-house  to  supply  the  world’s 
need. 

As  another  has  written,  and  whatever  the  time  and 
circumstance,  “You  are  what  you  think  you  are,” — 
clean  or  filthy,  hopeful  or  despairing,  weak  or  strong, 
rich  or  poor,  you  are  what  you  think  you  are.  Schiller’s 
dying  cry  was  “Give  me  a  great  thought.”  What  a 
morning  prayer  that  is  for  all  of  us !  “Give  me  a  great 
thought !” 

I  have  a  friend  whose  chamber  window  overlooks 
the  Hudson,  and  we  have  stood  together  there  with  the 
sunlight  marching  down  the  Palisades.  As  I  listened 
to  him  describe  the  morning  and  the  noon,  the  evening 
and  the  twilight,  and  as  we  followed  their  pathways 
across  the  majestic  plane  of  the  water,  I  saw  not  the 
Hudson,  but  my  friend.  Great  thoughts  have  come  to 
him  upon  the  tide  of  that  mighty  river. 

It  is  springtime ;  Central  Park  is  wearing  her  green 
carpets  and  her  tapestries  of  emerald  and  sapphire ; 
presently  her  hair  will  be  braided  wfith  flowers,  and 
the  trees  of  her  gardens  alive  with  the  songs  of  many 
birds,  while  around  her  at  night  a  million  stars  will 
shine  out  from  house  windows,  blending  with  God’s 
candles  set  in  the  sky,  until  the  imperial  city’s  breath- 


32 


What  Men  Need  Most 


ing  place  will  seem  an  island  world,  afloat  upon  a  silver 
sea.  Ah,  great  thoughts  will  come  to  you  if  you  visit 
Central  Park  in  the  springtime. 

Go  and  stand  in  front  of  the  venerable  municipal 
building  of  America’s  largest  city  and  look  up,  fol¬ 
lowing  the  chaste  and  regal  lines  of  the  Woolworth 
tower,  the  “cathedral  of  commerce,”  until  you  rest  your 
gaze  at  last  upon  the  clouds  that  ride  before  the  waves 
of  the  winds  that  break  upon  her  topmost  spires.  Then 
there  will  come  to  you  that  for  which  the  dying  Schiller 
cried. 

I  have  found  it  in  the  desert  and  among  the  moun¬ 
tains  and  on  the  sea,  in  the  soiled  face  of  a  little  gamin 
of  the  street,  in  the  homecoming  welcome  of  my  dog; 
in  the  laughter  of  playing  children,  in  the  warping  in 
of  an  ocean  liner,  in  the  discordant  clatter  of  coal  pour¬ 
ing  into  a  cellar, — telling  of  the  red  in  its  black.  I 
have  found  it  in  steaming  dugouts  where  men  wrapped 
bandages  about  wounded  bodies,  and  in  battle  grave¬ 
yards  where  crosses  were  as  plentiful  as  the  pines  upon' 
my  native  mountains.  I  have  found  it  in  the  house  of 
the  living  and  in  the  chamber  of  the  dead,  in  singing 
and  in  weeping,  in  love  and  in  laughter,  in  sickness 
and  in  health,  in  prosperity  and  adversity, — that  for 
which  the  dying  Schiller  cried, — I  have  found, — a  great 
thought. 

And  if  the  text  is  more  than  a  text,  if  it  is  true,  then 
we  must  think  great  thoughts  about  ourselves.  “For 
as  a  man  thinketh  in  his  heart,  so  is  he,”  and  lest  we 
make  the  mistake  of  a  wrong  emphasis  at  the  begin¬ 
ning,  let  us  remember  first  another  text,  “Let  him  that 
thinketh  he  standeth,  take  heed  lest  he  fall.”  And 
another,  “What  is  man  that  thou  (God)  art  mindful 
of  him?” 


33 


Clown  or  King? 

In  the  last  analysis  we  appraise  ourselves.  Are  we 
sensual ''and' brutish  creatures?  Yes,  if  we  think  sen¬ 
sually  and  as  brutes;  then  absolutely  we  are.  Are  we 
slave-drivers  in  industry,  Shylocks  in  trade,  tyrants  in 
our  home  relationships  ?  What  are  our  thoughts,  first ; 
then  I  will  answer.  Or  are  we  children  of  the  king, 
brothers  and  sisters  of  Jesus  Christ,  heirs  of  immor¬ 
tality,  with  work  to  do  in  the  world,  strong  work,  hard 
tasks,  helpful  ministries  ?  As  are  our  innermost 
thoughts,  so  are  we.  Tennyson  but  puts  it  in  another 
way  when  he  says,  “The  man  who  can  is  the  man  who 
will,”  and  you  remember  the  words  of  Channing  Pol¬ 
lock’s  hero  in  “The  Fool,”  which  is  a  very  great  play. 
Answering  the  eager  query  of  the  little  cripple  girl,  so 
anxious  to  be  strong,  he  says,  “If  you  believe,  if  you 
believe  hard  enough.” 

Such  great  thoughts  about  ourselves  lead  us  into  true 
humility,  for  in  so  thinking  we  come  at  last  to  the 
realisation  of  the  fact  that  we  are  but  the  culmination 
of  the  past,  and  that  we  are  debtors  to  the  ages.  As 
Quinet  has  it,  “Old  Chaldea,  Phoenicia,  Babylon,  Mem¬ 
phis,  J udea,  Egypt,  Etruria,  all  have  had  a  share  in  my 
education,  and  live  in  me.” 

Finally,  if  you  would  reign,  if  you  would  hold  a 
sceptre  instead  of  a  clown’s  bauble,  if  you  would  be  a 
king,  identify  yourself  in  your  thinking  with  great 
causes,  and  give  your  life  to  tasks  that  are  big  and 
true. 

I  met  J acob  Biis  just  fourteen  days  before  he  started 
on  his  last  journey.  Jacob  Biis  would  never  have  been 
more  than  any  one  of  a  thousand  push-cart  merchants 
of  his  race  had  he  not  heard  the  cry  of  the  East  Side; 
as  it  was,  Theodore  Roosevelt  called  him  the  most 
useful  citizen  of  Few  York.  Edith  Cavell  would  have 


34 


What  Men  Need  Most 

passed  from  the  hospital  of  her  service  an  unknown, 
had  she  not  for  truth’s  sake  kept  a  rendezvous  with 
death;  as  it  is,  her  words,  “Patriotism  is  not  enough,” 
will  have  the  resiliency  of  youth  when  the  marble  of 
her  statue  is  dust.  Savonarola  was  a  monk,  until  for 
a  cause  he  became  a  martyr;  now,  with  Lincoln  and 
Calvin  and  Wesley  and  Livingstone  and  the  rest,  he 
belongs  to  the  ages. 

It  is  very  true  that  we  are  not  and  will  not  become 
Lincolns,  but  we  are  in  a  world  of  need  and  oppor¬ 
tunity.  Hot  all  great  tasks  are  completed.  Many  bur¬ 
dens  are  upon  man,  too  great  for  him  to  bear  alone. 
“Think  on  these  things.”  Study  to  find  yourself.  Lend 
your  voice  and  influence  and  your  example  to  law  en¬ 
forcement,  register  against  sharp  practices  in  business, 
align  yourself  with  movements  working  intelligently 
and  in  Christlike  ways  to  destroy  war.  Give  money 
and  time  to  famine  relief  in  the  East,  and  far  and 
near.  Be  alive  to  your  duties  as  a  citizen.  Do  not 
disfranchise  yourself,  do  not  make  yourself  in  reality 
a  man  or  a  woman  without  a  country,  by  remaining 
away  from  the  polls  on  Election  Day.  Improve  your 
mind  by  reading  good  literature  and  by  hearing  pro¬ 
phetic  messages.  Install  a  radio.  Defuse  to  allow  your 
own  affairs,  your  personal,  your  business,  your  selfish 
affairs,  to  immerse  you.  There  are  many  women  and 
men  who  are  my  corroborating  testimony  when  I  say 
that  fine  thinking  and  abiding  happiness  are  the  reward 
of  those  who  tithe  (or  better)  their  time,  who  return  to 
God  service  that,  measured  by  hours  and  reduced  to  the 
cash  values  of  the  street,  represent  a  fortune. 

Yes,  if  you  would  think  great  thoughts,  identify  your¬ 
self  with  greatness  in  loyalty  and  service ;  live  and  grow 


Clown  or  King ?  35 

in  the  mental  and  spiritual  atmosphere  of  greatness,  in 
the  environment  of  the  sublime. 

In  Lake  Sunapee,  Hew  Hampshire,  Chinook  salmon 
have  a  maximum  weight  of  fourteen  pounds;  in  the 
Columbia  Kiver  and  the  sea  this  same  royal  fish  attains 
a  growth  of  sixty  pounds  and  more.  Scientists  tell 
us  that  fish  of  certain  species  at  least  are  large  or  small 
in  relation  to  the  size  of  the  bodies  of  water  they  in¬ 
habit,  that  physical  life  in  this  strange  way  is  a  crea¬ 
ture  of  environment. 

A  Hew  York  physician,  speaking  to*  a  father  con¬ 
cerning  tentative  plans  which  the  man  had  for  taking 
his  children  into  another  section  of  the  continent,  said, 
“By  all  means  take  them  if  you  can;  it  will  give  them 
an  inch  more  of  chest  expansion  and  add  inches  to 
their  height.” 

But  beyond  any  possible  truth  the  doctor’s  words 
may  contain,  we  are  the  children  and  the  adults  of 
our  mental  environment.  Physically,  intellectually, 
morally,  spiritually,  we  are,  by  the  measure  of  our 
thinking,  clowns  or  kings.  Then  let  me  pray — 

Give  me  great  thoughts,  0  God, 

Lend  me  the  royal  mind ; 

Lead  me  where  truth  has  trod, 

Where  faith  has  been  refined. 

I,  too,  would  know  the  plan 
Thou  hast  to  others  brought, — 

Crown  me,  a  common  man, 

With  high  and  kingly  thought. 

r 

What  matters,  then,  my  dole, 

Upon  this  peasant  clod  ? 

Within  my  cloistered  soul 
I  keep  a  tryst  with  God. 


3 


THE  GREATEST  FACT  OF  HISTORY 

Text:  St.  John  12:32.  “And  I ,  if  I  be 
lifted  up  from  the  earth,  will  draw  all  men 
unto  me.” 

Christianity  is  the  greatest  fact  of  history, — greater 
than  creation,  greater  than  discovery,  greater  than  in¬ 
vention,  greater  than  government. 

Creation  is  the  act  of  causing  to  exist;  creation  is 
first,  save  only  the  Creator  who  is  greater  than  His 
created.  Christianity  is  the  supreme  product  of  the 
creative  mind  and  will ;  also  Christianity  is  the  supreme 
expression  of  the  mind  and  will  of  God  in  man. 

Discovery  is  a  making  known,  as  in  science,  educa¬ 
tion,  art  or  exploration.  Christianity  is  a  making  new ; 
the  recreating  of  the  souls  of  men,  the  ways  of  institu¬ 
tions,  and  the  spirit  of  human  relationships. 

Invention  is  the  act  of  devising  or  creating  in  the 
mechanical  world  that  which  has  not  before  existed; 
Christianity  has  to  do  with  inventors  and  is  the  ulti¬ 
mate  expression  of  the  best  that  is  in  them  as  it  is  the 
“summum  bonum”  of  all  others. 

Government  is  control,  direction,  order,  authority, 
regulation,  as  of  church,  the  home,  or  the  affairs  of 
state.  Christianity  is  spiritual  authority;  the  control 
of  the  act  by  the  direction  of  the  heart  and  will.  Chris¬ 
tianity  dictates  and  commands  the  motive,  and  rules 

36 


The  Greatest  Fact  of  History  37 

governments  by  exercising  dominion  over  the  con¬ 
sciences  of  subjects. 

Christianity  is  the  greatest  fact  of  history  because  of 
its  promises.  In  my  father’s  library  was  a  set  of  books 
entitled,  “Thirty  Thousand  Promises,”  and  all  of  these 
were  taken  from  the  pages  between  Genesis  and  Revela¬ 
tion.  Promises  for  every  age  and  circumstance  of  life 
were  there,  and  all  were  the  sure  word  of  the  eternal, 
all-wise  and  all-powerful  Father  in  Heaven. 

Other  religions  have  promises  too,  but  it  is  safe  to 
sav  that  no  follower  of  Confucius  or  Buddha  or  Mo- 

t j 

hammed  would  be  able  to  stand  successfully  at  this 
point  in  debate  with  a  Christian.  Where  other  sys¬ 
tems  of  faith  promise  extermination,  the  chance  to 
forget  and  disappear,  Christianity  promises  a  glorious 
immortality ;  where  other  religions  promise  a  change 
of  form  or  a  later  return  to  earth,  as  a  new  creature, 
or  at  best  a  future  of  self-gratification  and  sensual 
pleasure,  Christianity  promises  the  fulfilment  of  life, 
the  perfecting  of  the  soul,  and  the  eternity  of  good. 

The  promises  of  Christianity  cover  every  condition, 
every  circumstance  of  human  experience.  To  me  they 
find  their  richest  expression  in  those  words  so  all-com¬ 
prehensive,  “As  are  thy  days,  so  shall  thy  strength  be.” 
To  me  that  means  everything;  strength  and  healing  for 
body,  mind  and  soul.  Again  and  again  I  have  thrown 
myself  upon  that  promise;  again  and  again  under  the 
drive  of  the  most  extreme  necessity  I  have  turned  to 
it.  “As  are  thy  days,  so  shall  thy  strength  be.” 

I  know  a  man  who  remembers  a  crucial  second  on  a 
college  oval  years  ago  when  his  limbs  failed  and  his 
spikes  no  longer  gripped  the  cinders ;  when  things  went 
suddenly  black  before  his  eyes,  and  the  control  of  his 
physical  being  had  all  but  gone  from  his  hands.  The 


38 


What  Men  Need  Most 


finish  of  the  gruelling  race  was  twenty  strides  away, 
and  in  a  flash  of  desperation  he  realised  that  with  the 
deciding  event  of  a  great  meet  all  but  won, — fairly, 
magnificently  won, — for  his  Alma  Mater,  he  was  being 
unhanded  by  a  muscular  seizure  such  as  every  athlete 
comes  to  know  at  one  time  or  another.  And  then  came 
the  remembrance  of  that  promise,  “As  are  thy  days,  so 
shall  thy  strength  be,”  and  on  it  he  lunged  across  the 
tape  to  victory. 

“As  are  thy  days,  so  shall  thy  strength  be.”  The 
widow  gathers  her  fatherless  children  under  its  shelter ; 
the  dying  turn  their  failing  eyes  toward  its  unfailing 
beacon;  the  tempted  take  from  it  grace  with  which  to 
overcome  their  dearest  sin ;  the  discouraged  find  it 
sounding  a  bugle  of  hope.  For  remorse  it  has  the 
courage  of  confession ;  for  the  wronged  it  has  the  sooth¬ 
ing  waters  of  forgetfulness,  and  in  it  they  find  the 
blessing  that  comes  to  those  who  forgive. 

To  the  young  it  may  be  a  long  time  unheeded,  and 
for  its  ministry  they  may  feel  conscious  of  no  need; 
but  for  youth,  ardent,  impetuous  and  wasteful,  it  has 
reserves  of  caution  and  conservation;  while  for  ma¬ 
turity  it  has  the  finishing  genius  of  high  emprise.  Al¬ 
ways  it  comes  with- those  superb  qualities  that  crown 
success,  and  for  all  it  releases  the  energies  of  body, 
mind  and  soul,  that  raise  a  task  to  its  completion,  that 
bring  an  endeavour,  however  humble,  into  the  morning 
of  its  perfect  day.  And  here  lies  the  divine  in  the 
promise,  here  is  God — this  all-pervading  assurance  of 
perfection, — perfect  health,  perfect  joy,  perfect  peace, 
perfect  work,  perfect  life. 

This  all-pervading  assurance  of  perfection,  I  say,  is 
peculiarly  Christian,  for  with  the  promise  comes  the 
demonstration  and  example  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  from 


39 


The  Greatest  Fact  of  History 

Him  radiates  the  glorious  invitation,  “Follow  Me/7 
and  “Where  I  am,  there  ye  shall  he  also.77  The  con¬ 
firmation  of  one  who  did  follow  Him  far  and  who  is 
with  Him  now,  is,  “We  shall  he  like  Him.77 

Yes,  Christianity,  by  the  number,  the  measure,  the 
quality  and  the  demonstration  of  its  promises  is  the 
greatest  fact  of  history.  Were  you  to  call  the  witnesses, 
were  it  possible  to  gather  them  together  and  to  take 
their  testimony,  you  would  fill  the  earth,  and  their 
voices  would  drown  the  sound  of  all  the  waters. 

Again,  Christianity  is  the  greatest  fact  of  history 
because  of  what  it  has  done,  because  of  its  accomplish¬ 
ments.  Measure  an  institution  by  its  contribution  to 
human  good.  Judge  every  tree  by  its  fruits. 

Christians  have  not  always  been  prompt  to  apply  this 
principle  to  others.  Perhaps  the  hard  school  of  the 
early  church  trained  some  to  deal  harshly  and  with  a 
spirit  of  intolerance  altogether  foreign  to  their  great 
teacher.  Something  at  least  of  the  homely  philosophy 
found  in  the  familiar  verse,  “There  is  so  much  of  bad 
in  the  best  of  us  and  so  much  of  good  in  the  worst  of 
us,  that  it  does  not  behoove  any  of  us  to  say  anything 
about  the  rest  of  us/7  should  permeate  our  spirits. 

Vast  contributions  have  been  made  to  the  happiness, 
health  and  knowledge  of  man  by  movements  and  insti¬ 
tutions  other  than  those  associated  with  Christianity. 
Indeed,  it  is  when  we  contemplate  and  study  these, 
properly  evaluating  them,  that  we  find  our  most  inspir¬ 
ing  comparisons  and  our  fairest  perspective  as  Chris¬ 
tians.  For  Christianity  has  not  only  made  its  distinc¬ 
tive  contributions  but  it  has  refined  and  perfected  those 
of  others. 

As  to  what  the  supreme  contribution  of  Christianity 
to  man  has  been,  there  may  be  a  wide  difference  of 


40 


What  Men  Need  Most 


opinion.  To  me  there  is  no  question  that  it  is  the 
sacredness  of  personality,  the  sense  of  the  soul,  the 
soul  of  the  individual  as  priceless  above  rubies,  as 
richer  than  riches.  Jesus  gave  the  right-about-face  to 
human  society  when  He  said,  “Ye  are  the  temple  of 
the  Holy  Ghost ” ;  ye, — not  the  altar  of  the  innermost 
sanctuary, — ye  are  the  holy  of  holies.  Then  did  he 
set  a  little  child,  babe  of  the  humblest  toiler,  above  the 
diadem  of  a  kingdom.  Then  did  he  set  in  motion  forces 
that  make  a  thorn  in  the  heel  of  a  barefoot  boy  of 
greater  concern  to  society  than  the  spangled  trappings 
of  a  prince,  while  the  hours  of  toil  for  women  and 
children  are  a  more  vital  problem  for  governments  than 
the  protection  of  temporal  wealth. 

And  against  everything  that  violates  personality, 
every  influence  that  degrades  the  human  body,  debases 
the  human  mind,  pollutes  the  soul,  Jesus  has  arrayed 
Christianity.  With  hospitals  and  schools,  institutions 
of  mercy  and  programmes  of  healing,  He  and  His  fol¬ 
lowers  have  set  about  the  task  of  setting  in  order  the 
world. 

Yes,  this  sense  of  the  sacredness  of  life,  the  sacred¬ 
ness  of  personality,  the  sacredness  of  that  which  is  the 
supreme  expression  of  God’s  creative  instinct,  power 
and  love, — this  into  which  He  pours  Himself,  this 
which,  as  God  Himself  is  deathless,  can  never  die, — 
this  is  the  supreme  contribution  of  Christianity  to  man. 
And  the  mighty  movements  of  reform  that  the  Chris¬ 
tian  Church  has  inspired  and  led,  the  missionary  adven¬ 
tures  of  her  most  intrepid  saints,  the  social  programmes 
that  take  their  life  from  the  fountain  which  flows  from 
His  side  who  said,  “Love  thy  neighbour  as  thyself,”  the 
ever  growing  sentiment  against  war, — these  are  expres- 


The  Greatest  Fact  of  History  41 

sions  of  the  Christ-filled  mind  against  that  which  in¬ 
jures  and  destroys  personality. 

Slavery  died  because  it  debased  personality, — -the 
personality  of  the  slave  and  of  the  slave-driver.  Duel¬ 
ling  was  outlawed  because  it  degraded  personality. 
Prohibition  could  never  have  succeeded  had  it  not  been 
for  the  fact  that  beverage  alcohol  and  the  saloon  raised 
the  brute  and  destroyed  personality.  Organised  vice 
everywhere  faces  the  inevitable  ban  of  civilisation  be¬ 
cause  it  leaves  a  blotch  of  shame  upon  personality,  and 
armed  conflict  will  pass  from  the  stage  of  human  action 
because  it  is  the  destroyer,  red-handed  and  colossal,  of 
human  personality;  because  by  one  fell  stroke  it  ends 
the  present  and  slays  the  future,  leaves  its  victims 
twice  upon  the  plains  of  battle,  once  in  fair-eyed  sons 
who  had  but  just  begun  to  live,  and  once  in  generations 
sealed  forever  in  the  dead  loins  of  potential  fatherhood 
destroyed. 

This  is  Christianity’s  greatest  contribution, — the 
exaltation  of  personality,  the  sense  of  its  sacredness, 
“Thou  art  the  temple  of  the  Holy  Ghost” ;  within  thee 
God  dwells,  not  in  stone,  nor  in  golden  vessels,  not  in 
shrines  nor  yet  in  arks  and  temples,  not  in  pride  of 
station,  nor  in  pomp  of  state.  But  within  thee,  a  little 
child,  a  maiden  fair,  or  stalwart  youth, — a  woman,  a 
man,  seamstress  or  maid,  princess  or  queen,  toiler  or 
captain  of  trade, — within  thee  God  dwells;  thou  art 
His  holy  place. 

Other  religions  and  institutions  have  made  contribu¬ 
tions  to  the  happiness  and  knowledge  of  man,  have 
enriched  art  and  given  to  science,  have  measured  their 
strength  in  numbers  against  the  followers  of  the 
Galilean,  and  we  do  ourselves  no  credit  when  we  ignore 


42 


What  Men  Need  Most 


or  despise  their  gifts.  They  have  raised  the  walls  of 
beautiful  cities  and  stretched  wide  the  boundaries  of 
empires;  they  have  taught  man’s  mind  and  strength¬ 
ened  man’s  body,  filled  his  coffers  and  feasted  his  am¬ 
bitions, — aye,  and  they  have  fed  his  soul, — fed  it  with 
husks  perhaps,  but  they  have  recognised  the  deathless 
longings  of  his  immortal  spirit  and  have  sought  to  give 
back  an  answer  to  his  cry,  “Light,  light,  more  light!” 

But  when  this  has  been  said,  and  when  all  has  been 
said,  they  have  failed, — failed  because  they  lacked  that 
which  Christianity  alone  had  to  give  in  its  simplicity 
and  fulness,  the  sense  of  the  sacred  in  man,  the  divine 
in  personality. 

Again,  Christianity  is  the  greatest  fact  of  history 
because  of  its  authority.  Authority  is  not  a  popular 
word  with  the  multitude  just  at  present,  but  it  is  a  very 
important  word, — a  word  that  home,  business,  church 
and  state  need  to  hear  more  often.  Discipline  and 
control,  which  are  but  expressions  of  authority,  are  not 
particularly  popular,  either.  But  until  they  are  given 
more  attention  among  us,  our  children  will  continue  to 
be  late  on  the  streets  and  early  into  trouble ;  our  courts 
will  continue  to  be  advertising  agencies  for  shameless 
stories  of  broken  vows;  our  business  relationships  will 
continue  to  wait  too  frequently  at  the  door  of  the  shrewd 
manipulator  rather  than  in  the  office  of  the  honest  ad¬ 
viser,  and  our  government  will  not  cease  to  be  a  foot¬ 
ball  for  corrupt  politicians. 

Christianity  is  the  greatest  fact  of  history  because 
it  is  the  religion  of  supreme  authority;  its  government 
is  above  all  governments,  and  we  are  told  in  the  book 
of  its  law  that  it  shall  “never  end.”  Its  rule  is  for 
time  and  for  eternity.  We  are  committed  on  this  con¬ 
tinent,  thank  God,  to  a  separation  between  church  and 


43 


The  Greatest  Fact  of  History 

state,  but,  thank  God  again,  that  in  the  words  of  former 
Associate  Justice  Brewer  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the 
United  States,  “This  is  a  Christian  nation,”  in  God  we 
put  our  trust,  and  must! 

But  how  idle  seem  these  brave  words  when  we  con¬ 
template  so  many  of  our  individual  and  national  ac¬ 
tions.  Xo  wonder  pessimists  find  comfort  and  infidels 
their  “evidence.”  Xot  until  we  have  compared  the 
records  of  the  generations  and  assembled  all  the  facts, 
do  we  see  the  upward  bend  of  civilisation,  do  we  catch 
a  vision  of  the  state  that  is  to  be,  and  find  faith  to  unite 
our  voices  in  those  stupendous  words  of  God’s  supreme 
declaration  of  authority,  “Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  thy 
God  with  all  thy  heart  and  with  all  thy  soul,  and  with 
all  thy  mind,  and  thy  neighbour  as  thyself.” 

Our  eyes  turn  upward  to  the  King  upon  the  throne 
of  the  eternities, — to  the  High  Command  of  the  soul, 
and  with  discernment,  with  a  full  regard  for  our  place 
and  responsibility  in  the  great  event  of  salvation, — sal¬ 
vation  for  the  individual  and  for  society, — we  sing  with 
Browning,  “'God’s  in  His  Heaven;  all’s  right  with  the 
world.” 

But  Christianity  is  the  greatest  fact  of  history  be¬ 
cause  of  its  method.  The  most  amazing  words  ever 
spoken  by  a  leader  were  these,  “I,  if  I  he  lifted  up  from 
the  earth,  will  draw  all  men  unto  me.”  All  other  con¬ 
querors  came  with  power  and  force,  lashes  in  the  hands 
of  drivers  herded  the  minions  of  Xerxes,  a  million 
strong,  into  the  pass  of  Thermopylae;  terror  ran  before 
the  hordes  of  Attila  and  Genghis-Khan ;  lustful  prom¬ 
ises  and  fanatical  hate  incited  the  hosts  of  Mohammed ; 
fear  in  a  thousand  hideous  forms  has  been  the  bulwark 
of  every  jungle  worship. 

But  Jesus  Christ,  who  stands  to-day,  supreme,  alone, 


44 


What  Men  Need  Most 


in  the  hungry  soul  of  the  world,  when  He  laid  down 
before  His  lieutenants  His  final  plan  of  campaign  and 
gave  them  the  directions  that  were  to  continue  until  the 
heavens  roll  back  as  a  scroll,  said,  “I,  if  I  be  lifted 
up  from  the  earth,  will  draw  all  men  unto  me.”  “Love, 
so  amazing,  so  divine !”  “Hot  by  might,  nor  by  power, 
but  by  my  spirit,  saith  the  Lord  of  hosts.”  And,  in 
the  last  analysis,  Christianity  is  great  because  it  is  a 
spirit,  and  because  it  captures,  commands,  controls,  the 
spirits  of  men. 

What  confirmation  that  promise  that  He  would  draw 
all  men  has  had !  They  swung  Him  up  between  earth 
and  sky;  lifted  Him  upon  the  slave’s  cross,  between 
thieves,  and  with  the  first  breath  of  His,  “It  is 
finished,”  began  the  disintegration  of  the  Roman  Em¬ 
pire.  They  stoned  Stephen,  and  one  of  that  very  com¬ 
pany  of  persecutors  became  the  field  marshal  of  His 
first  advance  toward  earth’s  last  frontiers.  They  fed 
His  followers  to  lions  they  had  starved  for  the  occa¬ 
sion,  and  presently  the  bloody  sand  became  the  seed- 
ground  of  His  church.  They  burned  His  Book,  only  to 
find  that  they  had  but  unchained  His  Word. 

At  last,  when  persecution  and  martyrdom  had  failed, 
popularity  came  to  more  seriously  threaten  His  plan. 
Men  took  on  His  name  in  easy  fashion  and  hid  their 
true  selves  behind  loud  professions.  Wealth  and  dis¬ 
tinction  turned  the  heads  of  His  captains ;  they  came  to 
serve  earthly  monarchs  with  zeal  that  was  greater  than 
their  passion  for  their  Lord ;  the  visible  church  became 
corrupt  with  temporal  power. 

But  though  shaken  to  its  foundations,  His  cause  stood 
fast,  and  to-day,  with  perilous  times  behind  and  yet 
weightier  events  before,  His  spirit  rises  an  irresistible 


The  Greatest  Fact  of  History  45 

tide  in  human  affairs,  bearing  man  forward,  drawing 
him  upward  and  on. 

In  all  history  there  is  no  other  spectacle  like  this, — 
a  king  without  a  capitol,  a  conqueror  without  an  army, 
an  empire  without  a  sword.  The  fact  is  proof  that 
love  is  the  greatest  thing  in  the  world.  Its  only  answer 
is  God. 

And  here  we  come  to  the  conclusion  of  the  whole 
matter,  and  the  conclusion  is  the  whole  matter:  Chris¬ 
tianity  is  the  greatest  fact  of  history  because  Chris¬ 
tianity  is  Jesus  Christ.  When  we  turn  to  Him,  how 
futile  are  all  words,  for  He  is  love;  He  is  man;  He 
is  God. 


4 

THREE  FACTS  AND  A  QUESTION 

Text :  Esther  4 : 14.  “Who  knoweth  whether 
thou  art  come  to  the  'kingdom  for  such  a  time 
as  this?” 

The  message  has  its  basis  in  the  life  of  a  queen,  in 
the  character  of  a  woman, — Esther,  the  Jewess.  His¬ 
tory  presents  her  in  the  white  light  granted  only  those 
who  serve  and  save;  who  battle  mightily  and  minister 
largely.  She  symbolises  three  vast  virtues, — loyalty, 
liberty,  and  faith.  She  was  true  to  her  people ;  she  lib¬ 
erated  her  race;  she  believed  implicitly  in  her  God. 

In  her  time  she  turned  wrath  into  praise  and  brought 
life  out  of  death;  for  our  time  she  is  a  brave  example 
and  lofty  inspiration. 

These  are  the  words  of  the  message:  “Who  knoweth 
whether  thou  art  come  to  the  kingdom  for  such  a  time 
as  this?”  In  them  there  are  three  facts  and  a  ques¬ 
tion. 

The  first  fact  of  the  message  is  the  fact  of  person¬ 
ality,  “Thou  art  come.”  That  I  am,  staggers  me. 
There  are  times  when  I  search  for  the  reasons  behind 
my  birth,  when  I  would  lay  hold  of  the  barriers  that 
fence  me  from  the  field  where  my  life-germ  was  planted. 
There  are  times  when  my  mind  rushes  on  to  leap  the 

chasm  between  me  and  the  things  that  are  hid  with 

46 


Three  Facts  and  a  Question  47 

Christ  in  God.  But  I  never  cease  to  wonder  at  my 
being.  Yesterday,  to-day,  and  to-morrow  are  three 
mysteries,  and  the  greatest  of  these  is  to-day. 

I  have  watched  my  children  in  their  cradles,  in  the 
first  discovery  of  infancy,  playing  with  their  hands,  and 
I  am  bound  to  confess  that  my  own  hands  are  quite  as 
much  a  miracle  to  me  now  as  they  were  back  in  the 
grey  dawn  before  memory  began,  when  I  saw  them  first. 

But  I  am  and  “thou  art,”  and  though  I  cannot  ex¬ 
plain,  I  should  be  a  fool  to  deny.  I  am  hands  and 
feet ;  I  am  a  body,  but  my  body  is  not  I.  I  am  a  spirit. 
There  is  a  container  and  there  is  the  thing  contained. 
How  superficial,  how  inconsistent,  is  the  man  who  uses 
vocal  organs  he  cannot  understand,  to  deny  the  fact  of 
a  soul  he  cannot  understand !  He  would  better  begin 
by  denying  the  existence  of  his  own  voice. 

Do  you  debate  the  question  by  insisting  that  eyes 
may  see  eyes  and  ears  hear  voices,  and  hands  touch 
hands,  but  that  no  one  can  measure  a  soul?  I  have 
touched  my  cold  dead;  and,  though  the  form  of  it  was 
there,  it  had  neither  eyes  nor  ears,  neither  hands  nor 
feet ;  it  did  not  speak,  and  it  did  not  smile.  That  which 
I  had  clasped  was  gone. 

“Thou  art  come.”  Hot  a  thing  of  flesh  and  bone, 
but  a  being  of  brawn  and  brain;  a  living  soul,  an  im¬ 
mortal.  “Thou  art  come.”  Sprung  from  the  loins  of 
all  the  past,  and  inheritor  of  the  past’s  taint  and  virtue, 
subject  to  disease  and  tempted,  poor  or  rich,  versatile 
or  dull  “thou  art  come.” 

There  are  dignity  and  terror  in  the  personal  pro¬ 
noun.  Up  from  the  dust  into  which  have  crumbled 
the  moulds  that  fashioned  the  unnumbered  billions  of 
humans  who  preceded  you;  out  of  the  matter  God 
breathed  upon  after  He  had  shaped  the  first  Adam, 


48 


What  Men  Need  Most 


and  back  into  which  jour  earthly  house  shall  pass, 
“thou  art  come.” 

At  the  risk  of  inciting  you  to  overvalue  yourselves, 
to  overestimate  your  qualities  by  misunderstanding  the 
direction  of  the  emphasis,  I  give  you  the  supreme  truth : 
Personality  is  eternal. 

The  second  fact  of  the  message  is  the  fact  of  place. 
“Thou  art  come  to  the  kingdom.7’  And  the  kingdom 
is  the  kingdom  of  the  present.  You  are  in  the  world; 
just  now  it  may  not  be  easy  to  realise  it,  but  your  feet 
are  on  the  earth,  and  all  about  you  are  people  with 
faults  and  follies  as  well  as  with  smiles  and  congratu¬ 
lations.  There  is  before  you  the  humdrum  business  of 
bread-making  and  child-rearing,  of  harvesting  and  ship¬ 
building,  of  preaching  and  teaching,  of  suffering  and 
dying,  of  service  and  of  sacrifice.  You  have  missed 
the  message  of  life  unless  you  go  out  every  morning 
of  the  working  day  to  master  practical  affairs,  to  solve 
immediate  problems,  to  meet  the  crisis  of  the  moment, 
whether  that  crisis  be  a  high  circumstance  such  as 
Esther  faced,  or  a  small  sum  that  wrinkles  the  brow 
of  a  child.  We  have  not  seen  the  beauties  or  caught 
the  lessons  of  the  radiant  Jewess,  whose  soul  was  more 
exquisite  than  her  form  or  face,  until  we  have  thrust 
her  great  ordeal  into  the  life  of  our  times,  into  the 
affairs  of  our  generation. 

Do  not  misunderstand  me.  God  pity  us  when  we 
lose  our  dreams  or  when  we  cease  to  see  visions.  We 
must  never  become  so  engrossed  with  ministries  that 
we  have  no  patience  or  time  for  musing,  for  prayer, 
and  for  communion.  Eventually  he  runs  in  a  circle 
who  runs  without  rest.  A  business  bankrupts  itself 
when  it  becomes  a  mere  counting  machine.  There  is 
an  efficiency  that  is  inefficient.  We  must  cultivate  the 


Three  Facts  and  a  Question  49 

amenities  of  the  heart;  we  must  wait  with  friendship 
and  tarry  with  God,  if  we  are  to  see  developed  within 
ourselves  that  spiritual  initiative  that,  more  than  phys¬ 
ical  force  and  mechanical  genius,  shapes  the  destiny  of 
the  world. 

But  we  must  bring  this  spiritual  initiative,  we  must 
apply  this  moral  fervour,  this  divine  optimism,  to  the 
tasks  of  the  kingdom.  We  must  harness  our  dreams; 
we  must  put  a  sword  into  the  hands  of  our  visions;  we 
must  honour  our  friendships  by  rendering  a  service,  and 
glorify  our  God  by  making  a  life. 

The  kingdom  is  your  kingdom,  yours  to-day  as  it  was 
Queen  Esther’s  yesterday.  Again  the  dignity  of  per¬ 
sonality.  Yours;  for  you  is  the  opportunity,  and  will 
you  sulk  because  of  one  who  seems  by  birth  or  environ¬ 
ment  to  be  more  favoured  than  you  are  ?  Will  you 
hang  back  because  of  handicaps,  fancied  or  real,  when 
a  small-bodied  and  humbly-born  Welshman  may  rise 
to  stand  at  the  head  of  all  liberal  statesmen,  when  a 
farmer  boy  may  become  a  President,  and  when  un¬ 
named  private  soldiers  may  make  a  human  levee  that 
holds  back  a  flood  of  absolutism  as  the  dikes  of  Hol¬ 
land  hold  back  the  Horth  Sea?  Will  you  despise  your 
present  ministry  because  of  geographical  limitations  or 
because  of  its  smallness  when  measured  by  the  deeds 
of  others? 

There  is  no  excuse  for  failure,  for  God  is  the  final 
arbiter,  and  He  measures  a  life,  not  by  its  accomplish¬ 
ments,  but  by  what  it  struggles  to  do ;  not  by  the  work 
of  its  hands  alone,  but  by  the  motives  of  its  heart. 

The  kingdom  is  your  kingdom,  for  yours  is  the  re¬ 
sponsibility.  Ho  life  ever  faces  an  opportunity  to 
render  a  service  without  looking  into  the  eyes  of  moral 
obligation.  Standing  at  a  crowded  street-corner  in  Hew 


50 


What  Men  Need  Most 


York  City  one  day,  I  saw  a  blind  man  hesitating  at  the 
sidewalk’s  edge.  Suddenly  a  Boy  Scout  leaped  “out  of 
the  somewhere  into  the  here/’  and  in  a  moment  the 
stranger  was  led  in  safety  across  Fifth  Avenue. 

There  are  blind  men  everywhere.  The  world  is  going 
it  blind  to-day.  Guides  are  needed,  guides  who  have 
all  the  dash  of  the  Boy  Scout  and  as  much  informa¬ 
tion.  You  are  bound,  and  so  am  I,  in  a  small  corner 
or  in  a  larger  place,  and  to  the  utmost  of  physical 
strength  and  moral  stamina,  to  show  the  way.  Any 
man  or  any  woman  who  has  as  much  as  a  handful  of 
the  flour  of  influence,  or  a  thimbleful  of  the  oil  of 
ability,  and  hoards  it  in  these  starving  times,  is  not  a 
Christian,  is  not  a  patriot,  is  a  poltroon.  We  must 
give,  give  unto  the  uttermost,  give  our  all. 

The  kingdom  is  your  kingdom,  for  yours  are  the 
rewards,  and  the  rewards  are  unfailing  and  ample. 
There  is  the  joy  of  honest  work,  of  a  task  well  per¬ 
formed.  There  is  no  satisfaction  greater  than  that 
which  comes  with  the  consciousness  of  having  completed 
a  project.  There  is  no  sleep  sweeter  than  the  slumber 
that  follows  level-best  endeavour,  whether  your  hands 
have  swung  an  axe  in  the  forest  or  your  mind  has 
chiselled  an  angel  out  of  marble. 

There  is  the  growth  of  soul  that  attends  all  service, 
the  breaking  of  the  bands  of  prejudice,  the  laying  down 
of  the  barriers  of  narrowness,  the  developing  of  a  re¬ 
sourceful  and  beneficent  character.  I  would  rather 
have  it  said  of  you,  when  they  put  away  the  tools  with 
which  you  have  gardened  in  the  rich  fields  of  human 
progress,  that  you  were  a  great  heart  than  that  you 
garnered  a  golden  harvest. 

You  have  stern  problems  and  hard  work  before  you, 
but  you  will  not  become  hard  if  the  prayer  with  which 


Three  Facts  and  a  Question  51 

yon  greet  each  new  day  has  the  spirit  of  the  words, 
“Father  of  us  all,  help  me  this  day  to  love  men  and 
women,  little  children  and  Thee.77 

During  the  great  war  I  heard  a  brilliant  young 
Canadian  lieutenant-colonel  say,  in  a  farewell  address 
delivered  at  a  banquet  given  in  his  honour  by  the  church 
of  which  he  was  a  member,  “I  do  not  go  into  this  bloody 
thing  because  I  want  to  go;  because  I  have  a  passion 
to  slay.  I  go  because  duty  calls  me,  and  I  am  glad  to 
do  my  bit.  As  I  try  to  analyse  the  conflicting  emotions 
of  my  heart,  I  find  terror  as  well  as  determination. 
But  one  great  desire  I  do  have,  to  so  carry  myself  at 
the  front  and  everywhere  that  when  I  come  back,  if  I 
come  back,  little  children  will  run  to  me  as  confidently 
as  they  do  to-day.77 

The  kingdom  is  yours,  because  the  rewards  are  yours, 
and  the  highest  reward  of  all  is  the  “Well  done77  of 
heaven.  I  do  not  hesitate  to  tell  you  that  I  am  work¬ 
ing  for  that.  I  may  miss  a  certain  peace  of  mind  that 
comes  when  men  speak  well  of  me ;  but  I  must  not  miss 
His  approbation,  and  I  need  not.  There  is  no  chance 
for  Him  to  misunderstand  me.  The  judgments  of  the 
world  are  superficial  and  finite;  the  judgments  of  God 
are  infinite;  they  are  “true  and  righteous  altogether.77 

This  leads  us  naturally  to  the  fact  that  the  kingdom 
which  is  our  kingdom  is  also  God7s  kingdom. 

“God7s  in  His  heaven; 

All7s  right  with  the  world.77 

Does  the  quotation  seem  out  of  place?  Does  it  jar? 
If  it  is  not  true,  then  where  is  our  hope?  At  a  great 
convention  an  international  leader  of  religious  thought 
and  activity  declared  that  while  in  Europe  during  the 
war  he  heard  an  English  diplomat  say  that  a  complete 


52 


What  Men  Need  Most 


world  catastrophe  could  not  be  averted  “unless  God 
performs  a  miracle.”  And  God  did  and  God  will! 
He  is  performing  miracles;  miraculous  beyond  the 
turning  of  water  into  wine  was  the  driving  from  Ameri¬ 
can  civilisation  of  beverage  alcohol;  miraculous  beyond 
the  raising  of  Lazarus  is  the  new  birth  of  democracy 
in  all  the  world. 

I  do  not  profess  to  see  a  way  through  the  present 
darkness  but  I  do  know  that  there  is  a  way,  and  that 
our  halting  feet  will  find  and  tread  it.  I  am  not  a 
prophet ;  I  cannot  see  the  end  from  the  beginning.  But 
I  have  the  sure  knowledge  of  the  omnipotence  of  God, 
an  omnipotence  that  maketh  even  the  wrath  of  men  to 
praise  Him. 

Christianity  has  not  failed,  for  it  has  been  neither  un¬ 
derstood  nor  applied.  Men  called  Christians  have  mis¬ 
erably  failed,  but  Jesus  has  the  only  balm  for  the  war- 
sores  of  the  world.  The  race  is  on  a  pilgrimage  of  dis¬ 
covery;  it  is  the  quest  of  Christ.  We  have  taken  the 
wilderness  way  of  hunger  and  thirst;  of  delay  and 
denial;  but  to-day  our  backs  are  against  Egypt,  and 
we  are  moving  towards  Jordan. 

If  it  were  not  for  the  assurance  and  for  the  pro¬ 
gramme  of  the  Christian  religion,  I  should  utterly 
despair.  But  for  our  terrible  sins  we  are  now  aton¬ 
ing.  Eor  our  iniquitous  neglect  of  the  clear  teachings 
of  Him  who  spake  as  never  man  spake,  for  our  failure 
to  apply  those  teachings  to  governments  as  well  as  to 
individuals,  for  the  money  that  we  have  “sluiced  out 
of  rivers  of  blood”  we  are  paying  the  price. 

It  is  a  price  vast  beyond  human  comprehension,  but 
who  will  say  that  it  is  too  great  a  price  to  pay  if  by  it 
we  gain  an  international  conscience ;  if  by  it  we  democ¬ 
ratise  the  last  threatening  autocratic  government ;  if  by 


Three  Facts  and  a  Question  53 

it  all  states  come  to  accept  brotherhood  responsibilities, 
each  for  the  other  and  the  strong  for  the  weak;  if  by 
it  we  learn  the  truth  written  in  letters  of  fire  and 
blood  above  every  mined  sea  and  every  shell-ploughed 
field,  “Without  me  ye  can  do  nothing. ” 

Yes,  “thou  art  come  to  the  kingdom,”  thy  kingdom 
and  God’s.  Come  to  be  a  toiler  with  the  infinite  in 
promoting  the  common  good  and  in  making  a  new 
earth. 

The  third  fact  of  the  message  is  the  fact-  of  time. 
“For  such  a  time  as  this.”  Already  we  have  appre¬ 
ciated  together  the  stupendous  problems  to  which  we 
are  born,  problems  far  more  complex  and  appalling  than 
those  confronting  the  queen  whose  character  is  our  real 
message  to-day,  but  problems  no  less  solvable,  for  they 
are  human  problems,  and  we  are  labourers  together 
with  God. 

But  first  of  all,  we  must  go  to  our  knees.  First  of 
all,  our  preparedness  for  these  great  tasks  must  be 
spiritual.  America  must  be  made  increasingly  worth 
living  for,  as  well  as  increasingly  worth  dying  for. 
And  why  is  a  nation  worth  dying  for  ?  Yot  because 
of  her  forests  and  rivers,  not  because  of  her  ranges 
crowded  with  ore,  not  because  of  her  ripening  harvests 
and  her  orchards  in  full  bloom;  not  because  of  her  busy 
marts  of  trade.  A  nation  is  worth  dying  for  because 
of  her  ideals,  because  of  her  spiritual  institutions,  be¬ 
cause  she  has  a  soul  to  save.  The  challenge  of  our 
patriotism  to-day,  for  such  a  time  as  this,  is  the  call 
to  a  supreme  self-surrender  for  God,  for  America,  and 
for  the  world. 

If  this  were  the  place  for  an  extended  survey,  we 
should  be  bound  to  discuss  at  length  the  grave  economic 
and  social  crises  that  have  followed  the  war.  Half  the 


54 


What  Men  Need  Most 


world  is  hungry  to-day,  and  millions  are  said  to  he 
slowly  starving. 

While  the  great  war,  with  the  lesser  wars  following 
it,  is  responsible  for  much  of  this  physical  suffering, 
other  and  more  fundamental  causes  of  waste  and  in¬ 
equality  have  been  revealed.  Until  these  causes  are 
squarely  faced  and  honestly  dealt  with,  no  superficial 
juggling  with  effects  can  give  lasting  relief.  Sixty  per 
cent  of  our  families  are  living  on  incomes  of  less  than 
$800  annually,  when  unprejudiced  investigators  prove 
that  no  family  can  supply  itself  with  essential  neces¬ 
sities  and  comforts  and  provide  properly  for  its  future 
on  less  than  $1,200  annually. 

Apples  rot  on  the  trees  of  Ohio  and  berries  decay  on 
the  bushes  of  Oregon  while  children  lift  up  the  cry  of 
hunger  in  the  streets  of  New  York.  Drunken  feasts  of 
the  parasite  rich  and  bread  riots  of  the  helpless  poor 
join  their  voices  to  the  disgrace  of  our  modern  city  life. 
In  the  mountains  of  Pennsylvania  coal  waits  while 
grates  are  empty  in  New  England  and  the  Middle 
West. 

“God  give  us  men.  A  time  like  this  demands 
Strong  minds,  great  hearts,  true  faith,  and  ready 
hands.” 

And  God  is  giving  men,  men  and  women,  unselfish, 
prophetic,  and  competent  for  the  leadership  and  service 
of  this  time.  Great  Britain  is  wrestling  constructively 
with  the  liquor  octopus  of  recognised  vested  rights. 
America  has  achieved  national  prohibition.  The  slogan, 
“A  Saloonless  Nation  by  1920,”  has  become  the  proc¬ 
lamation  for  a  saloonless  world.  God  is  giving  com¬ 
pensation  for  our  appalling  tragedies.  The  millions 


Three  Facts  and  a  Question  55 

that  were  under  arms  have  eaten  of  the  tree  of  knowl¬ 
edge.  They  have  learned  their  human  values  and  their 
divine  rights.  The  poor  are  claiming  their  birthright 
of  the  earth  and  its  fruits;  and  increasingly  the  rich 
are  coming  to  accept  their  obligations  as  stewards.  In 
spite  of  grave  moral  reactions  we  believe  that  upon  the 
common  altar  of  sacrifice  raised  by  the  war,  where  the 
high  and  low  joined  their  offerings  of  blood  and 
treasure,  has  been  kindled  a  fire  that  will  burn  out  the 
dross  of  economic  slavery,  and  that  will  light  the  way 
to  the  wiser  times  of  equal  opportunity  in  the  benefits 
of  democratic  government  and  in  the  gifts  of  nature’s 
God. 

"For  such  a  time  as  this,”  ghastly,  glorious  time! 
There  are  armies  of  graves  across  two  hemispheres,  and 
the  world  is  still  a  charnel-pit.  The  ruined  cities  of 
northern  France  still  bear  the  marks  of  never-to-be- 
forgotten  vandalism  and  the  spots  of  blood  that  will 
not  out. 

But  as  truly  as  the  blood  of  the  martyrs  is  the  seed 
of  the  church,  so  there  is  a  resurrection  for  every  tomb, 
and  a  daybreak  for  every  midnight.  The  path  of  civili¬ 
sation  rises  and  dips,  but  it  remains  permanently  at  no 
lower  level.  The  key-word  of  the  whole  social  order  is 
progress,  not  decline.  To-morrow  will  be  better  than 
to-day,  and  we  are  the  builders  of  the  to-morrow. 

These  are  the  facts  of  the  mesage :  The  fact  of  per¬ 
sonality,  the  fact  of  place,  and  the  fact  of  time.  The 
question  of  the  message,  the  question  upon  the  correct 
answer  to  which  your  whole  life  waits,  is  a Who  know- 
eth  whether  thou  art  come  to  the  kingdom  for  such  a 
time  as  this  ?”  Who  has  the  answer  to  the  question  ? 
Who  knows  ? 

There  are  always  a  number  of  people  who  think  that 


56 


What  Men  Need  Most 


they  know, — our  friends  and  our  parents,  for  instance. 
They  may  or  they  may  not  have  the  correct  judgment 
of  our  possibilities.  But  in  other  generations  class  dull¬ 
ards  have  taken  life’s  prizes,  and  university  honour 
men  have  become  prodigal  sons  of  learning.  Our  im¬ 
mediate  associates  are  too  close  to  us  to  see  on  all  sides 
of  us.  Distance  gives  perspective. 

Who  knows?  Mentally  and  spiritually  lazy  people, 
when  confronted  with  such  a  problem,  are  likely  to  say, 
“God  knows.”  But  shall  we  satisfy  ourselves  with 
“God  knows  whether  I  am  come  to  the  kingdom  for 
such  a  time  as  this”  ?  Men  and  women,  handling  every 
day  the  service  tools  of  life,  in  reverence  let  me  say 
that  unless  you  know,  the  fact  of  God’s  omniscience 
does  not  matter.  Unless  you  have  the  conviction  that 
for  such  a  time  as  this  you  are  born,  trained,  and 
equipped,  the  wisdom  of  the  Almighty,  in  so  far  as  it 
relates  to  you,  a  free  moral  agent,  is  a  palsied  arm. 

Some  one  has  said,  “Egotism  is  divine.”  Egotism 
may  be  very  foolish,  and  the  word  has  come  to  signify 
obnoxious  self-esteem.  But  no  brilliancy,  no  physical 
prowess,  no  mechanical  efficiency,  no  refinement  of 
birth,  no  indorsement  of  influential  friends,  no  mere 
mental  equipment,  can  build  for  you  the  life  trium¬ 
phant,  unless  these  are  united  in  you,  to  your  own  abso¬ 
lute  knowledge,  that  you  have  a  place  to  fill  in  the 
world,  that  you  have  a  ministry  to  perform  in  your 
generation,  that  you  are  sent  of  God,  that  you  are  come 
to  the  kingdom  for  such  a  time  as  this. 

Here  is  the  knowledge  that  is  power.  Such  knowl¬ 
edge  is  very  exalting  and  very  humbling,  and  those  who 
possess  it  are  the  humblers  of  the  mighty.  “Know 
thyself”  is  the  first  principle  of  true  wisdom  and  the 
secret  of  success. 


Three  Facts  and  a  Question  57 

Hone  of  us  should  ever  cease  to  be  a  learner.  But 
our  wisdom-gathering  must  be  more  than  academic. 
It  must  be  applied.  What  we  already  have  we  must 
use  while  each  new  discovery  must  be  channelled  in 
service;  and  of  wisdom’s  quest  there  is  no  end. 

Finally,  we  must  know  God,  and  God’s  Son,  the 
only  sufficient  Saviour  and  Shepherd.  We  must  know 
Him  whom  to  know  aright  is  eternal  life,  eternal  life 
for  ourselves  and  for  our  labours. 

I  have  no  apology  to  make  for  the  last  emphasis  of 
the  message.  In  a  rocking  world,  with  civilisation  peel¬ 
ing  her  thin  veneer,  the  only  mighty  fortress  is  our 
God.  And  here  faith  and  knowledge  blend.  Only  the 
truly  wise  believe,  and  only  those  who  from  the  crum¬ 
bling  foundations  man  has  laid,  spring  to  the  Rock  of 
Ages,  have  wisdom  enough  to  lead  us  now. 

“I  know  of  a  world  that  is  sunk  in  shame, 

Where  hearts  oft  faint  and  tire. 

But  I  know  of  a  name,  a  name,  a  name 
That  can  set  that  world  on  fire. 

Its  sound  is  a  brand,  its  letters  flame, 

I  know  of  a  name,  a  name,  a  name, 

’Tis  Jesus.” 

Faith,  faith  in  ultimate  good  because  of  an  unlimited 
God,  is  the  victory  that  overcomes  the  world.  Let  us 
anchor  our  lives  here. 


5 


DEAD  KING  OR  LIVING  LORD? 

Text :  St.  Luke  24 :  5-6.  “Why  seek  ye  the 
living  among  the  dead?  He  is  not  here,  but 
is  risen/' 

The  supreme  question  of  Easter  morning  is  not,  “Did 
Jesus  Rise?”  but  “Is  Jesus  Risen?”  Here  joins  life’s 
greatest  issue.  Immortal  hope  trembles  in  the  balance 
for  us  all,  as  we  turn  our  eyes  toward  the  tomb  in 
Joseph’s  garden  where  Mary  hurried  through  the  dews 
of  that  first  Easter  dawn,  and  as  we  hear  again  the 
angels’  stupendous  declaration,  “Why  seek  ye  the  living 
among  the  dead  ?  He  is  not  here,  but  is  risen.” 

What  does  Easter  mean  to  us  ?  As  we  look  upon 
that  great  event  and  lose  the  sense  of  time  and  space, 
what  does  our  angel  spokesman  say  ?  What  is  the  mes¬ 
sage  of  the  voice, — “He  rose,”  or  “He  is  risen”  ?  He 
was,  or,  He  is  ?  The  tense  is  everything.  Our  peace 
of  mind,  our  happiness,  our  moral  health,  depends  upon 
our  answer  to  the  question. 

There  are  those  who  give  at  least  mental  assent  to 
the  miracle  which  opened  the  tomb,  but  who  by  their 
practice  deny  louder  than  any  words  the  living  Christ. 
They  move  with  those  who,  as  the  day  went  dark  upon 
the  skull-shaped  hill,  named  Him  a  dead  king;  they 
are  of  the  mixed  multitude  which  turned  away  from 

his  agony,  whatever  else  their  judgment  may  have 

58 


Dead  King  or  Living  Lord ?  59 

been,  however  well  they  may  have  loved,  or  hated  Him, 
without  a  promise  for  their  grief  or  a  premonition  for 
their  exultation. 

The  challenge  of  the  ultimatum,  then,  is  “Dead 
King  or  Living  Lord  V’  When  Pilate  wrote  the  super¬ 
scription  for  the  cross,  “King  of  the  Jews,”  he  was  not 
uncertain  of  the  crucifixion's  outcome.  He  made  let¬ 
ters  to  brand  a  dead  man  and  not  to  honour  a  living 
ruler.  Vascillating,  pusillanimous,  cowardly  and  jeal¬ 
ous,  he  would  have  them  acknowledge  no  personality 
longer  able  to  dispute  with  him  for  public  attention  and 
homage.  Xor  would  he  have  taken  the  chance  of  of¬ 
fending  the  greater  Caesar  by  acclaiming  the  wonder¬ 
working  Jew,  had  he  not  already,  though  to  be  sure 
with  a  certain  fearful  reluctance,  made  the  destruction 
of  the  Xazarine  a  certainty.  Hot  until  the  way  was 
cleared  to  Calvary,  not  until  his  own  first  and  entirely 
selfish  objections  had  been  overruled,  and  God’s  dear 
Son  was  on  His  Via  Crucis,  did  the  nervous  Pilate  take 
his  stencil  in  hand.  To  the  Prsetor  of  Pome  Jesus  was 
a  broken  body,  a  powerless  will,  a  dead  king. 

And  to  the  church  whose  priests  mixed  their  hate 
with  spittle  to  drown  His  forgiving  glances,  the  church 
decadent  and  infidel,  straining  gnats  and  swallowing 
camels,  praying  at  length  in  public,  and  in  secret  short- 
changing  the  people: — the  church,  a  tomb  of  putrid 
sacrileges,  Jesus  was  a  charlatan  exposed  at  last,  a  re¬ 
pudiated  prophet,  a  popular  idol  overthrown,  a  dead 
king.  That  His  had  been  a  name  to  conjure  with,  their 
very  presence  at  the  cross  confirmed;  their  shameful 
demonstrations  proved ;  but  to  them  His  day  was  ended ; 
His  glory  was  departed : — He  was  dead. 

There  were  strangers  in  that  mount  of  suffering, 
merchants  from  the  far  corners  of  the  earth,  curiosity- 


60 


What  Men  Need  Most 


seekers  who  came  for  the  spectacle,  and  who,  encour¬ 
aged  by  the  rumours  of  this  man’s  miraculous  gifts, 
hoped  for  a  new  thrill.  Thousands  watched  that  day 
upon  the  green  hill  without  the  city  gate,  the  painful 
ascent  of  the  cross,  as  other  thousands  watched  the 
“Human  Fly”  go  to  his  death  up  the  sheer  walls  of  the 
Martinique  in  Hew  York  City.  How  these  rude  fel¬ 
lows  must  have  waited,  breathless,  for  His  answer  when 
his  temple  tormentors  cried  out  in  derision,  “Come 
down  from  the  cross,”  and  when  they  had  shaken  them¬ 
selves  free  of  the  momentary  terror  the  darkened 
heavens  and  other  strange  manifestations  must  have 
inspired ;  I  suppose  they  sought  their  lodgings  thought¬ 
ful,  but  disappointed,  and  saying,  “Well,  whatever  he 
was,  he  is  dead  now.  Strangely  we  felt  ourselves  drawn 
to  Him ;  Ah !  we  were  sure  that  He  would  come  down, 
and  even  now  we  somehow  believe  that  He  could  have 
come  down,  but  he  is  a  dead  king.” 

And  what  of  the  little  group  which  gazed  through 
weeping  eyes  upon  that  spectacle, — the  faithful  John, 
to  whom  the  royal  son  bequeathed  his  mother,  and  those 
others  who  had  taken  bread  from  his  now  pierced 
hands.  And  what  of  her  who  bore  him  ?  woman  of 
infinite  woes.  Surely  these  knew!  Surely  these  un¬ 
derstood!  Ho!  Their  judgment,  different  in  quality, 
was  not  different  in  character.  They  saw  a  beloved 
form  stiffen;  eyes  that  had  so  often  looked  upon  them 
with  vast  yearning,  glaze ;  hands  that  had  so  often  car¬ 
ried  to  the  suffering  multitudes  the  touch  of  healing, 
become  lifeless ;  the  voice  that  had  spoken  as  never  man 
spake,  grow  dumb,  and  as  they  watched  and  wept,  hope 
saw  no  star,  for  hope  was  dead,  and  listening  love  heard 
not  even  “the  rustle  of  a  wing.”  “For  as  yet,”  as  you 
will  find  it  written  in  the  9th  verse  of  the  twentieth 


61 


Dead  King  or  Living  Lord ? 

chapter  of  St.  John’s  Gospel,  “they  knew  not  the  scrip¬ 
ture,  that  he  must  rise  again  from  the  dead.”  And 
heyond  that  first  Easter  morning  their  great  doubt 
stalked,  until  Thomas  had  thrust  his  fingers  into  the 
yet  open  wounds.  Then  faith  found  tongue.  After¬ 
wards,  came  the  vindication  of  history,  and  the  fulfil¬ 
ment  of  time. 

He  was  not  a  dead  king  who  commanded  the  intrepid 
saints  of  the  early  church,  who  led  them  out  on  the 
most  sublime  adventures  of  human  experience.  He 
was  not  a  dead  king  who  lit  the  signal  fires  of  the  Pen¬ 
tecostal  upper  room;  who  held  the  gaze  of  Stephen, 
when  through  the  showering  stones  that  first  Christian 
martyr  lifted  his  dying  eyes  to  the  opening  heavens 
and  claimed  forgiveness  for  his  murderers.  He  was 
not  a  dead  king  who  took  command  of  Saul  of  Tarsus, 
blinded  him  with  lightnings  and  then  thrust  him  forth 
to  compass  the  earth  with  the  truths  of  redemption. 
He  was  not  a  dead  king  who  conquered  Rome  more 
completely  than  did  Hannibal  or  Attila ;  who  made  out 
of  a  heathen  Coliseum  a  Christian  church,  and  who 
set  up  a  spiritual  empire  by  the  Golden  Horn  more 
extensive  and  potent  than  the  temporal  throne  of  Con¬ 
stantine.  He  was  not  a  dead  king  who  went  before  the 
cross  of  Augustine,  who  tamed  the  fires  for  Savonarola, 
who  led  the  Ironsides  of  Cromwell,  who  calmed  the 
seas  that  broke  about  the  prow  of  the  Half -moon  and 
eased  the  waves  that  washed  the  decks  of  the  May¬ 
flower.  He  was  not  a  dead  king  who  opened  up  the 
wilderness  before  the  circuit  rider  and  gave  to  the  first 
missionaries  the  islands  of  the  sea  for  an  inheritance. 

John  Calvin  and  John  Wesley,  Zinzendorf  and 
Luther,  Carey  and  Paton  and  Morison,  Livingstone, 
Adoniram  Judson,  Bishop  Thoburn  and  MacKay,  Sam 


62 


What  Men  Need  Most 


Lapsley  and  Horace  Pitkin,  and  that  numberless  com¬ 
pany  of  their  faith  and  kind  who  accepted  the  great 
commission  and  went  forth  to  make  the  waste  places 
of  superstition  and  idolatry  blossom  with  the  flowers 
of  salvation,  followed  not  the  banner  of  a  dead  king  hut 
marched  in  the  train  of  a  living  Lord. 

A  supreme  evidence  of  the  fact  that  Jesus  broke  out 
of  His  tomb,  rose  from  the  dead  and  conquered  death, 
is  this  other  fact,  scarcely  less  sublime,  that  men  and 
women  live  and  die  for  Him  and  for  His  cause,  and 
that  “the  blood  of  the  martyrs  is  the  seed  of  the 
church.” 

The  institutions  of  modern  civilisation  that  are  our 
greatest  pride  are  not  monuments  of  a  dead  king;  they 
are  memorials  to  a  living  Lord.  And  the  finest  im¬ 
pulse  of  the  human  heart,  the  free  and  unselfish  aspira¬ 
tions  of  the  human  mind,  the  holiest  ambitions  of  the 
immortal  soul,  these  two  thousand  years  since  Pilate 
wrote  that  taunt  for  Israel  and  had  it  nailed  above  the 
Galilean’s  thorn-crowned  head,  have  sprung  from  the 
deathless  fountain  opened  under  the  cross  for  the  heal¬ 
ing  of  the  nations. 

Pilate  was  wrong;  the  priests  were  wrong;  the  curi¬ 
ous  onlookers,  the  disappointed  spectators  were  wrong; 
the  disciples  and  Mary  were  wrong.  He  was  not  dead 
wThen  on  the  cross  His  body  died, — He  was  the  living 
Lord. 

And  now  we  have  cleared  the  way  to  the  more  vital 
matter.  He  rose.  Is  He  risen  ?  What  is  the  answer  ? 

It  is  not  difficult  to  be  an  infidel.  A  very  ordinary 
mind  can  doubt,  and  doubt  impressively.  To  this  fact 
I  am  a  competent  witness.  Any  poor  fellow  can  deny. 
And  beyond  this,  the  times  in  which  we  live  are  fruitful 
gardens  for  rank  growths  of  cynicism  and  discourage- 


63 


Dead  King  or  Living  Lord ? 

ment.  It  takes  a  far  vision  to  catch  the  promise  of  a 
dawn  beyond  the  moral,  the  social,  the  industrial,  the 
international  night  in  which  we  seem  to  live. 

Hor  would  I  have  you  think  that  I  refer  only  to  a 
state  of  mind  when  I  speak  of  doubt  and  denial.  The 
most  dangerous  infidel  is  not  the  one  who  with  his  lips 
denies;  it  is  possible  for  me  to  sit  in  church  on  Easter 
Sunday,  before  the  resurrection  lilies,  joining  with 
affirmation  in  the  creed,  and  uniting  in  the  hymns  of 
faith,  giving  mental  assent  to  all  the  most  evangelical 
of  preachers  might  say,  and  yet  with  my  life  acknowl¬ 
edging  not  a  living  Lord,  but  confirming  with  Pilate 
and  the  priests  and  the  rest,  a  dead  king. 

What  is  my  confession  on  Easter  day?  Yes,  and 
also  what  is  my  confession  the  following  day?  What 
is  my  life?  Do  I  practise  Jesus  Christ?  And  how 
far  have  His  principles  which  we  declare  to  be  true 
and  righteous  altogether  possessed  the  mind  and  prac¬ 
tice  of  human  relationships?  Does  a  dead  king  lie 
beneath  the  Ruhr  valley  to-day,  or  shall  a  living  Lord 
of  reconciliation  patrol  the  boundaries  of  Europe  ? 
Will  the  leaders  of  capital  and  labour  worship  at  the 
tomb  of  a  dead  king  or  listen  to  the  voice  of  a  living 
Lord?  Statesmen  and  captains  of  industry,  employers 
and  employes,  those  who  sell  and  those  who  buy,  rich 
and  poor,  you  and  I,  must  face  the  great  question, — 
must  meet  the  ultimatum.  As  individuals  and  as  social 
units  we  must  meet  it,  and  we  must  make  reply  not 
only  with  our  lips ;  we  must  answer  with  our  lives. 

Llave  I  confessed  a  situation  that  has  encouragement 
for  the  pessimist?  Well,  I  might  go  even  farther,  and 
confess  a  sense  of  at  times  appalling  discouragement, 
a  mood  that  cries,  The  Days  are  evil;  the  good  is  dead; 
the  end  is  worse  than  the  beginning ;  what’s  the  use  ? 


64 


What  Men  Need  Most 


But  then  I  hear  a  voice  that  never  fails  the  ears  that 
strain  to  hear  the  bugle  of  the  dawn,  “Say  not,  the 
days  are  evil,  who’s  to  blame.  Stand  up,  speak  out  and 
bravely,  in  God’s  name.  Be  strong.” 

Against  the  present  chaos  in  internationalism  sounds 
the  Christmas  chorus  of  Bethlehem,  and  in  the  awak¬ 
ening,  sacrificial  conscience,  opposed  to  the  futility  and 
wastage  of  war,  I  see  a  star  of  hope  that  will  shine 
more  and  more  unto  the  perfect  day  of  brotherhood. 
Against  the  greed  of  profiteers  and  the  cruelty  of  the 
exploiters  of  weakness,  who  are  satisfied  to  fill  their 
coffers  at  the  expense  of  empty  bins  and  scanty  larders, 
appear  the  ever-increasing  number  of  men  and  women 
who  measure  their  profits  by  the  Golden  Rule,  and  who 
share  their  power. 

“Say  not  the  days  are  evil,”  nor  advertise  the  mote 
of  infidelity  in  others,  unless  and  until  you  have  taken 
the  beam  of  selfishness  or  idleness  or  injustice  or 
idolatry  out  of  your  own  eye;  unless  and  until  you 
have  joined  yourself  to  that  goodly  and  growing  com¬ 
pany  that  challenges  the  evil  and  battles  the  wrong. 

I  know  a  man  whose  name  a  little  while  ago  was 
on  the  lips  of  millions.  He  is  drilling  an  oil  well.  He 
is  the  kind  of  an  adventurer  men  call  by  another  name, 
“wildcatter.”  He  of  course  is  sure  that  he  will  find 
flowing  gold.  Perhaps  he  will.  At  any  rate,  he  will 
deserve  to;  he  has  sold  no  stock  and  has  interested  no 
one  with  him  who  cannot  afford  to  share  disappoint¬ 
ment  as  well  as  success.  And  where,  always  before,  I 
believe,  the  rule  of  work  in  oil  fields  has  been  the  seven 
day  week  and  the  twelve  hour  day, — the  latter  being 
two  shifts,  he  has  introduced  another  policy, — six  days 
a  week,  but  with  pay  for  seven,  and  eight  hours  a  day, 
with  the  added  expense  of  three  shifts  instead  of  two, 


65 


Dead  King  or  Living  Lord? 

for  twenty-four  hours.  Seasoned  oil  men  call  him  a 
fool;  he  knows  it,  and  smiles.  I  call  him  a  pioneer 
and  a  Christian.  I  think  of  him  when  I  read  my 
Easter  lesson,  and  thinking  of  him  it  is  not  hard  to 
sav,  “He  is  risen.” 

Hot  long  ago  I  sat  in  an  old  trading  post,  "built  from 
adobe  and  hewn  logs.  It  stands  a  hundred  miles  from 
the  nearest  railroad,  at  Chin  Lee,  near  the  mouth 
of  Canyon  de  Chelly,  and  six  miles  below  the  famous 
white  house  of  a  thousand  rooms — that  prehistoric 
cliff-dwelling  which  housed  an  industrious  people  be¬ 
fore  the  foundations  of  the  pyramids  were  laid  down. 
How  the  old  post  is  a  mission  church,  and  in  it  several 
times  every  week  gather  the  Christian  Havajos.  I 
talked  to  my  dark-skinned,  desert  brothers  as  I  would 
talk  to  you. 

I  wish  that  you  might  know  them  as  I  have  come 
to  know  them ; — their  children,  their  herds,  their 
hogans.  I  wish  that  you  might  see  the  changes  wrought 
by  the  spirit  of  the  living  Christ  that  I  have  witnessed ; 
that  you,  too,  might  compare  the  pagan  who  still  exists 
in  filth  and  fear,  with  his  neighbour  whom  God  hath 
healed  and  who  lives  now  with  a  countenance  of  light 
in  a  home  which  fully  vindicates  the  theory  that  clean¬ 
liness  is  next  to  Godliness. 

I  talked  with  William  Gorman,  one  of  the  most 
prosperous  and  intelligent  of  the  Havajos.  He  is  a 
fine  and  handsome  man.  His  wife,  his  sons  and  daugh¬ 
ters  are  worthy  of  him.  I  met  him  first  when,  seems; 

v  7  0 

our  automobile  in  distress,  he  hurried  across  his  fields 
and  helped  dig  us  out  of  the  sand.  He  has  visited  the 
great  cities  and  has  been  the  spokesman  of  his  people 
in  Washington. 

We  talked  of  many  things, — this  dark-skinned  Pres- 


66 


What  Men  Need  Most 


byterian  elder  of  a  struggling  Indian  church  set  in  the 
mighty  desert  stillness.  We  talked  of  the  new  adobe 
house  of  prayer  with  the  manse  the  heroic  missionary 
and  his  little  band  have  slowly  raised  by  their  own 
hands;  of  the  bell  they  some  day  hope  to  have  to  peal 
its  golden  message  down  the  arroyas  and  across  the 
mesas.  William  Gorman  (his  Navajo  name  you  would 
not  understand)  loves  those  tiny  buildings  with  a 
peculiar  affection,  for  he  it  was  who  pled  with  Secre¬ 
tary  Lane  of  President  Wilson’s  cabinet  for  the  privi¬ 
lege  of  erecting  them, — pled  eloquently  and  success¬ 
fully  against  bitter  opposition. 

And  then,  at  last,  through  the  interpreter  (for  Wil¬ 
liam  Gorman  speaks  no  English)  I  asked  a  question 
that  brought  a  flood  of  words.  With  glowing  eyes,  rich 
and  rapid  voice  and  gesticulating  hands,  he  spoke  of 
his  personal  Christian  experience;  of  his  old  fears  and 
evil  doings,  of  how  as  a  lad  he  prayed  to  the  river,  the 
mountain,  the  bear,  the  coyote,  the  lion,  and  the  sun; 
of  how  he  had  once  lived  as  his  neighbours  lived,  and 
then  of  the  great  change  that  came.  When  he  told  of 
his  Christian  faith  he  became  so  impressive  that  we 
who  sat  in  that  rude  room  caught  the  sense  of  an  un¬ 
seen,  benign  presence,  as  he  concluded,  “And  all  of  this 
I  do  fully  believe.” 

Sir,  if  you  have  somewhere,  somehow,  lost  your 
faith,  come  with  me  to  the  great  open  places,  to  the 
vast  silences  where  God  still  speaks  as  from  the  burn¬ 
ing  bush.  I  remember  my  Navajo  friends  and  their 
church  as  I  read  again  the  Easter  message.  Not  a  dead 
king  but  a  living  Lord  has  changed  and  now  commands 
William  Gorman  and  his  house. 

For  me  this  is  the  message  of  Easter,  and  while  it 
underlies  and  undergirds  the  entire  structure  of  Chris- 


67 


Dead  King  or  Living  Lord ? 

tian  faith,  while  it  is  the  most  profound  theological 
element  of  our  religion,  it  has  a  warmth  in  its  personal 
application,  an  intimate  tenderness  that  makes  it  a 
balm  of  Gilead  to  a  wounded  spirit,  and  a  song  in  the 
night  to  a  sorrowing  soul.  When  we  stand  beside  the 
graves  of  our  departed,  while  winter  winds  of  death 
blow  chill  about  us,  we  have  the  promise  of  another 
springtime,  for  He  is  risen. 

We  know  that,  as  the  blossoms  bud  and  bloom  and 
fade ;  then  lift  their  heads  again  in  fairer  forms,  so  we 
shall  rise.  Then,  when  at  last  we  close  our  eyes  upon 
these  scenes  and  fold  our  hands  from  work,  we  do  not 
die ;  that  we  but  pass  from  work  to  greater  work.  Be¬ 
cause  He  lives,  we  shall  live  also. 

Jesus  Christ  is  not  a  dead  king.  In  spite  of  time 
and  change,  with  all  the  ardour  of  my  youth,  those 
years  when  faith  first  came  to  build  an  altar  in  my 
heart,  I  answer  all  my  doubts  and  silence  all  my  fears 
with  “He  is  Risen.” 


6 

REMEMBER  JESUS  CHRIST 


Text:  II  Timothy  2:8.  “Remember  Jesus 
Christ ,  risen  from  the  dead,  of  the  seed  of 
David,  according  to  my  gospel  ” 

Love  is  memory’s  great  compulsion,  and  next  to  love 
is  remorse.  We  cannot  forget  when  we  love,  and  until 
love  has  covered  them  we  always  remember  our  sins. 

Does  the  text  arrangement  then  seem  arbitrary  and 
unwarranted?  “Remember  Jesus  Christ?”  Is  it  not 
altogether  unnecessary  to  say,  Remember  Jesus;  to 
admonish  against  forgetting  the  Christ  ?  Do  you  smile 
at  the  very  thought  of  the  world,  of  any  of  us,  ever 
forgetting  Him  ? 

Is  it  not  like  warning  a  son  not  to  forget  his  mother; 
to  remember  the  hands  that  held  him  close  against  the 
warm  breasts  of  his  babyhood;  the  eyes  that  lingered 
upon  his  first  efforts  to  break  the  shackles  of  his  in¬ 
fancy’s  helplessness;  the  voice  that  sang  him  to  sleep; 
that  called  him  from  his  play ;  that  comforted  his  grief 
and  admonished  his  wrong-doings : — the  one  above  all 
others  who  believed  in  him;  hoped  for  him,  communed 
with  him?  How  unnecessary  to  say  to  you,  “Remem¬ 
ber  Mother.” 

Is  it  not  like  admonishing  a  man  to  keep  in  mind  the 

mother  of  his  children ;  the  woman  who  shares  his  bitter 

and  his  sweet,  who  feels  more  deeply  than  he  does  his 

68 


Remember  Jesus  Christ 


69 


reverses,  and  who  is  the  genius  of  his  triumphs?  Is 
it  not  like  saying,  Husband,  remember  your  wife;  or, 
Son,  remember  your  father;  or,  Woman,  remember 
your  dearest,  your  truest,  most  unselfish  friend?  As 
I  think  in  these  terms  of  the  text  I  catch  myself  re¬ 
peating  fragments  of  the  old  song,  “How  can  I  forget 
Him?  How  can  I  forget  Him?  He’s  done  so  much 
for  me.” 

Hor  can  I.  Hot  until  I  forget  the  holiest  recollec¬ 
tions  of  childhood,  youth  and  young  manhood,  can  I 
ever  forget  Jesus  Christ.  It  is  a.  mental  impossibility 
for  me  to  blot  out  the  memory  of  him.  Hot  even  were 
I  to  will  to  forget,  could  I ;  for  again  and  again  I  have 
been  reminded  that  memory  is  not  subject  to  will. 

Hor  can  the  world  forget  Him.  He  stands  at  every 
cross-road  of  her  progress.  He  is  at  the  centre  of 
every  great  spiritual  impulse  that  thrusts  civilisation 
upward ;  cathedrals  that  have  stood  a  thousand  years 
crumble  in  an  hour  under  the  concentrated  fire  of  long¬ 
distance  guns.  But  the  One  who  raised  them  by  the 
hands  of  men  His  sacrifice  inspired,  stands  unscarred, 
unshrunken,  and  unobscured.  He  has  enemies,  hut 
none  who  match  His  strength.  Many  deny  His  au¬ 
thority,  hut  even  they  must  walk  in  the  light  He  car¬ 
ries  ;  and  His  rivals  are  as  children  who  puff  up  their 
cheeks  to  blow  out  the  sun. 

Why  then  the  text  ? — because  in  this  case  it  serves  to 
concentrate  our  gaze  upon  the  central  figure  of  the 
great  truth  we  wish  to  emphasise.  Remember  Jesus 
Christ,  and  in  particular  remember  these  things  about 
Him: — these  characteristics  that  belong  to  Him;  “Re¬ 
member  J esus  Christ  of  the  seed  of  David ;  raised  from 
the  dead.” 

First,  remember  that  Jesus  Christ  was  a  man.  Re- 


70 


What  Men  Need  Most 


member  that  J esus  Christ  was  a  human  being ;  that  He 
was  flesh,  bone,  blood;  mind  to  think  and  grieve  and 
rejoice;  body  to  grow  and  suffer;  that  He  was  like  as 
we  are.  Remember  this  to-day.  Is  it  unnecessary  to 
say  as  much  as  has  already  been  said?  Frankly,  I 
often  have  greater  difficulty  with  the  humanity  of  J  esus 
than  with  the  divinity  of  Jesus.  This  is  especially 
true  during  the  weeks  of  His  growing  passion.  “Love 
so  amazing,  so  divine.  Can  it  be?”  and  can  it  be  that 
a  man,  a  human  being,  possessed  it?  Small  wonder 
that  the  first  heretics  in  the  church  were  not  those  who 
denied  that  Jesus  was  God,  but  those  who  refused  to 
believe  that  He  was  or  could  have  been  human.  It 
was  the  Gnostic  that  the  early  church  first  drove  out; 
those  who  met  the  embarrassment  of  His  visible  pres¬ 
ence  by  the  shores  of  Galilee  and  in  the  earthly  counsels 
of  men  by  saying  that  He  only  seemed  to  have  a  human 
form,  that  His  apparent  flesh  and  blood  were  only  a 
phantom,  that  His  suffering  and  His  death  were  not 
reality.  Apollonaris  was  not  an  infidel  in  the  sense 
that  we  now  regard  the  word;  nor  was  he  a  Unitarian. 
The  deity  of  J  esus  Christ  He  did  not  question,  but  His 
humanity  he  did  absolutely  deny.  Our  text  to-day  is 
not  a  covered  word;  in  it  is  no  hidden  meaning.  Re¬ 
member  Jesus  Christ  of  David’s  seed;  descendant  of  a 
long  earthly  line,  fruit  of  a  woman’s  womb,  babe  of  a 
woman’s  travail  pain.  Remember  Jesus  Christ,  the 
man,  and  of  all  men  the  most  human. 

And  so  remembering  him,  remember  that  He  had 
man’s  limitations.  We  know  by  the  record  that  He 
could  be  hungry,  hungry  for  friends,  as  well  as  for 
food ;  hungry  for  fellowship  and  understanding,  a$  well 
as  for  drink;  that  because  He  had  the  limitations  of  a 
man  He  could  not,  physically  speaking,  be  in  two 


Remember  Jesus  Christ 


71 


places  at  the  same  time.  Lazarus  died  in  His  absence. 
Remember  that  because  lie  was  a  man  be  could  not  go 
on  without  weariness ;  that  because  He  was  a  man,  a 
flesb-and-blood  creature,  He  could  not  escape  tempta¬ 
tion;  tempted  in  all  points  like  as  we  are,  was  Jesus. 

We  know  that  because  He  came  as  a  normal  babe? 
so  He  grew  as  a  normal  child ;  as  the  Scripture  has  it, 
“He  increased,”  increased  in  stature,  increased  in  in¬ 
tellect.  He  was  wiser  at  twelve  than  He  was  at  two, 
and  wiser  at  thirty  than  He  had  been  when  He  con¬ 
founded  the  temple  priests.  Ho  we  seem  to  commit 
ourselves  at  this  point  to  a  moot  question  ?  Do  we  raise 
the  issue  as  to  what  Jesus  would  have  been  had  He 
lived  a  decade  longer  than  He  did ; — that  is,  would  he 
have  been  wiser  at  forty  than  He  was  at  thirty?  Well, 
moot  questions  of  this  sort  do  not  trouble  me,  and  I 
have  small  patience  with  those  who  spend  their  time 
in  communion  with  them. 

I  know  that  Jesus  completed  a  perfect  work  at  thirty- 
three,  and  am  satisfied  that  there  He  reached  His  phys¬ 
ical,  his  human  perfection.  The  essential  matter  is 
that  He  increased  while  He  lived;  that  He  grew  in  all 
of  His  human  attributes ;  that  He  was  not  handed  down 
from  heaven  in  all  of  his  final  perfections.  Yes,  re¬ 
member,  remember,  all  of  you,  that  Jesus  was  of  Da¬ 
vid’s  seed ;  that  like  as  we  came,  He  came ;  that  by  the 
upward  way  of  our  youth,  struggle,  temptation  and 
development,  He  climbed ;  and,  climbing,  reached  the 
heights  of  manhood’s  perfection.  And  that  now  from 
these  heights  He  calls  down  to  us,  calls  with  invitation 
and  a  promise,  “Follow  me.” 

But  this  text  has  two  parts,  it  is  in  halves.  Remem¬ 
ber  Jesus  Christ,  of  David’s  line;  do  not  forget  His 
manhood;  and,  also  remember  Jesus  Christ  who  was 


72 


What  Men  Need  Most 


raised  from  the  dead,  who  broke  from  Joseph’s  tomb  as 
a  giant  breaks  from  a  shackle  of  straw.  If  Easter  is  not 
a  lie,  then  Jesus  is  more  than  a  man,  more  than  any 
man. 

Eemember  Jesus  Christ,  the  Son  of  God,  with  em¬ 
phasis  upon  the  definite  article;  remember  that  He  so 
confessed  Himself  when  He  confirmed  Pilate’s  inquiry 
with  “Thou  hast  said,”  and  when  He  even  more 
specifically  declared,  “He  that  hath  seen  me,  hath  seen 
the  Father;  the  Father  and  I  are  one.”  And  were  I 
to  deny  the  claim  of  Jesus  Christ  at  this  point,  I  often 
wonder  how  I  could  believe  in  God  at  all,  at  least  in 
a  God  of  fatherly  consideration  and  love.  God,  who 
created  the  world  and  all  worlds;  God,  who  set  up  the 
universe  and  the  universes;  who  organised  the  preces¬ 
sion  of  the  equinoxes,  who  made  life  out  of  His  pur¬ 
pose  and  then  at  last  allowed  a  situation  in  which 
nature  destroys  her  own  children,  a  situation  in  which 
cold  becomes  cruelty  and  heat  a  blistering  torture,  and 
in  which  man  follows  his  divinely  ordained  passions 
into  selfishness  and  lust.  It  is  easier  for  me  to  believe 
in  Jesus  Christ  as  God  than  it  would  be  to  believe  in 
God  the  Father  without  Jesus  Christ. 

And  of  course  it  was  to  meet  this  very  difficulty,  this 
very  situation  in  man,  that  God  sent  His  only  begotten 
Son;  Jesus  came  to  reveal  the  Father;  to  make  Him 
clear;  to  bring  Him  nigh;  to  prove  Him  as  love, — 
love  unto  sacrifice,  love  unto  death,  and  vastly  more, 
love  unto  everlasting  life.  You  may  say,  sir,  it  is 
hard;  it  is  impossible  to  understand  His  nature,  both 
human  and  divine;  or  you  may  go  as  far  as  some  who 
it  seems  to  me  should  know  better,  and  say,  He  cannot 
be  both  God  and  man.  And  I  will  grant  you  that  in 
terms  of  human  reason,  as  to  all  the  details,  it  is  hard 


Remember  Jesus  Christ  73 

if  not  quite  impossible  to  understand;  that  truly  now 
we  see  through  a  glass  darkly. 

But  I  am  bound  to  say  that  with  all  the  facts  before 
me,  I  cannot  believe  anything  else.  I  am  forced  to 
faith;  His  humanity  is  a  historical  fact;  Jesus  Christ 
was  as  Caesar  was;  as  Hapoleon  was;  as  Lincoln  was; 
and  His  divinity,  Llis  deity,  with  me  are  unescapable 
conclusions  if  He  ever  lived  at  all.  For  he  lived  as 
never  man  lived;  He  spoke  as  never  man  spoke;  He 
healed  as  never  man  healed;  He  died  as  never  man 
died;  He  rose  as  never  man  rose ;  He  lives  now  as  never 
man  has  lived. 

The  great  truth  of  the  incarnation,  the  fact  that  God 
came  into  human  life,  as  He  was  in  Jesus  Christ,  is 
easier  for  me  now  than  the  doubt  of  that  fact,  and  do 
not,  oh,  do  not  go  out  misled  into  believing  that  my  way 
in  faith  has  been  one  of  easy  grades.  Out  of  my  own 
experience  I  am  trying  to  translate  for  you  what  this 
text  has  come  to  mean  to  me.  Has  come  to  mean,  I 
say,  for  unto  this  day  I  have  struggled  against  all  the 
odds  that  you  have  faced ;  I  have  wrestled  with  all  the 
questions  in  your  minds ;  I  have  fought  for  every  con¬ 
viction  and  assurance,  which  I  now  possess. 

But  we  are  to  remember  something  more  to-day  than 
the  great,  the  central  truths  that  J esus  Christ  was  man, 
and  that  at  the  same  time  Jesus  Christ  was  God.  We 
are  to  remember  that  we  are  to  be  like  Him.  That  we 
are  to  be  perfect  as  He  is  perfect,  is  the  supreme  decla¬ 
ration  of  this  profound  principle.  We  know  of  course 
that  this  is  our  ultimate  goal  which  now  is  hid  with 
Christ  in  God.  But  that  it  has  very  direct  implications 
for  this  present  life  we  must  not  overlook.  At  this 
point  some  find  the  basis  for  a  great  error;  they  say 
‘‘He  was  God's  son  but  so  are  we,  and  as  He  was  God’s 


74 


What  Men  Need  Most 


son  so  we  are;  or  may  become.  Just  as,  in  a  sense 
(they  go  on)  God  became  incarnate  in  Jesus,  so  lie  will 
become  life  within  us.  It  is  only  a  matter  of  degree, 
lie  is  our  example,  our  invitation,  our  inspiration;  He 
is  a  good  man,  incomparably  better,  perhaps  than  any 
other  who  has  ever  lived;  but  certainly  He  is  not  God. 
Let  us  emulate  Him.” 

With  these  scholars  I  must  and  do  part  company. 
We  are  sons  of  God;  we  are  heirs  with  Jesus  Christ, 
and  joint  heirs,  but  we  are  not  sons  as  Jesus  was  the 
Son.  If  he  were  merely  a  perfect  man,  to  ask  any 
person  to  be  like  Him  would  be  piffle ;  it  would  be  like 
ordering  a  cripple  to  become  like  Sandow,  or  a  dis¬ 
figured  imbecile  like  a  queen  of  beauty,  or  a  deaf  and 
dumb  man  to  become  a  Caruso.  It  is  God  in  Christ 
who  makes  the  invitation  for  us  to  become  like  Jesus, 
to  become  like  Jesus  more  and  more  unto  the  perfect 
day,  a  reasonable  request  ;  a  glorious  invitation,  and  a 
divine  assurance.  Christ  in  us  is  our  hope  of  glory; 
not  the  Christ  who  was  a  man,  man  of  our  manhood 
and  limitations,  but  the  Christ  of  God. 

To-day  as  you  look  back  upon  your  failures,  as  you 
remember  your  transgressions,  remember  Jesus  Christ. 
Eemember  that  you  may  correct  your  ways;  find  for¬ 
giveness  for  your  sins;  that  from  the  dead  things  of 
yesterday  you  may  have  a  glorious  resurrection.  Why  ? 
Because  and  only  because  “He  is  thy  life,”  because  and 
only  because  in  Him  even  though  we  have  been  for  a 
long  time  dead  in  trespasses  and  sins,  we  become  alive 
forever  more.  Men  and  women,  let  the  call  of  every 
Communion  service  be  a  call  to  the  great  confession; 
your  confession  of  Jesus  Christ  as  Lord  and  King. 

But  there  is  another  word  that  must  not  be  over¬ 
looked.  What  does  it  mean  to  fail  of  remembering 


Remember  Jesus  Christ 


75 


Jesus  Christ?  Hot  to  remember  Jesus  Christ  is  to 
forget  God,  and  to  forget  God  is  self-destruction.  We 
turn  with  horror  from  the  suicide;  but  moral  and 
spiritual  suicides  are  all  about  us.  What  a  vast  wreck¬ 
age  human  society  carries  upon  the  open  seas  of  its 
life!  How  hapless  and  hopeless  are  the  souls  without 
faith  in  Jesus  Christ.  And  I  am  reminded  that  the 
application  of  this  principle  is  not  confined  to  indi¬ 
viduals.  The  nation  that  sinneth,  it  shall  die ;  the  gov¬ 
ernment  that  blasphemes  God,  it  shall  perish;  Soviet 
Russia  could  have  sinned  against  every  sound  economic 
principle  and  perhaps  survived;  debased  her  currency 
and  still  held  at  least  the  allegiance  of  her  own  people; 
cursed  the  governments  of  her  rivals  and  remained  im- 
mune  from  foreign  attack.  But  Soviet  Russia  cannot 
blaspheme  God  and  live ;  her  own  people  will  forge 
weapons  of  a  terrible  vengeance  in  the  white  fires  of 
their  deathless  religious  instincts;  forge  them  even 
though  their  churches  be  desecrated  and  their  priests 
slain;  forge  them  and  use  them. 

And  let  us  not  in  fancied  isolation  and  proud  self¬ 
ishness  feel  a  false  security. 

This  is  to  me  the  message  of  the  day  when  we  gather 
about  the  table  of  His  remembrance : — when  together 
in  the  bonds  of  a  deathless  fellowship  we  eat  and  drink, 
showing  forth  His  death  and  resurrection: — Remember 
Jesus  Christy 


# 


7 

WHAT  THE  DEVIL  ASKED 

Text:  Job  1:9.  “Doth  Job  fear  God  for 
naught  V* 

“Doth.  Job  fear  God  for  naught?”  are  the  words  of 
the  devil  which  might  be  stated  in  their  converse  and 
modernised  form,  “What’s  his  price  ?”  The  prince  of 
darkness  is  frankly  of  the  opinion  that  Job,  whose  out¬ 
ward  goodness  he  does  not  deny,  is  merely  keeping  the 
bond,  returning  God  service, — unusual  service,  to  he 
sure, — but  for  very  unusual  temporal  and  spiritual 
blessings  received  by  divine  favour. 

“Hast  thou  not  made  a  hedge  about  him  V 9  continues 
Satan,  pressing  his  contention,  “and  about  his  house 
and  about  all  that  he  hath  on  every  side  ?  thou  hast 
blessed  the  work  of  his  hands  and  his  substance  is  in¬ 
creased  in  the  land,” — “but  put  forth  thy  hand  now, 
and  touch  all  that  he  hath,  and  he  will  curse  thee  to 
thy  face.”  In  other  words,  “Certainly  Job  is  reli¬ 
gious;  hut  Job  is  prosperous.  Impoverish  him  and 
watch  him  revert  to  type;  let  him  know  bitterness  and 
sorrow,  and  he  will  become  another  devil.” 

Also  we  see  the  inference  that  godliness  inspired  by 
selfishness  is  worthless,  that  it  is  a  counterfeit;  and 
good  doctrine  this  certainly  is  even  when  the  devil  be¬ 
comes  its  mouthpiece.  The  eminent  Scottish  divine, 
Dr.  Watkinson,  has  said,  “The  devil’s  theology  is 

usually  orthodox;  his  failure  is  elsewhere.”  At  this 

76 


What  the  Devil  Ashed 


77 


point  one  might  well  paraphrase  the  immortal  words 
of  an  heroic  nurse,  and  say,  “ Theology  is  not  enough.” 

And  now  to  those  who  have  followed  the  exquisitely 
written  story  of  Job,  one  of  the  literary  masterpieces 
of  all  masterpieces,  unfolds  the  travail  of  the  soul ;  and 
the  torture  of  the  body  of  this  man  who  stands  for  all 
ages  as  the  epitome  of  faithfulness  and  the  sum  of 
human  virtues.  Have  you  found  any  test  he  was  not 
called  upon  to  meet?  Ah,  there  was  not  one  link  of 
weakness  in  his  armour ;  he  survived,  came  off  more 
than  conqueror,  gave  the  lie  to  Lucifer;  vindicated 
God;  won  the  victor’s  crown. 

I  wonder  whether  we  accept  the  principle ;  whether 
we  believe  this  story  of  the  man  of  many  trials,  or 
whether  the  ancient  riddle  has  a  certain  fascination  for 
us:  ‘‘Does  Job  fear  God  for  naught?” — has  every  man 
his  price  ?  What  think  you  ?  Cynical  days  these  are, 
we  say.  Why  I  read, — but  what’s  the  use?  I  read 
and  you  read— what?  the  current  jazz  of  public  life; 
the  lurid  tale  of  spectacular  moral  failure;  not  the 
wholesome  best  nor  the  average  commonplace.  We 
wait  here  for  reasoned  truth.  Does  Job  fear  God  for 
naught  ?  Hot  the  addle-headed  chaser  after  latest 
fads.  Does  Job,  the  representative  man  of  affairs,  the 
churchman  of  repute, — does  he  serve  God  for  naught  ? 
Are  all  men,  or  most  men,  average,  home-making  men, 
liars  ?  That’s  the  question.  What  of  the  underpinning 
of  society  ?  its  foundations  ? 

Once  a  friend  said  as  we  talked  in  the  lobby  of  a 
hotel,  “Come  downstairs  and  watch  Young  America  in 
the  dance  of  death.”  As  he  spoke,  he  looked  at  me 
half-mockingly.  Presently  we  saw  them, — a  hundred, 
perhaps  two  hundred,  hardly  more, — about  crowded 
tables,  and  then  when  the  music  began  we  saw  them 


78 


What  Men  Need  Most 


hurrying  to  the  cleared  centre  of  the  great  room: — 
mere  boys  and  girls,  many  of  them;  they  belonged  at 
home  (I  wonder  how  many  had  no  fit  homes).  I  loathe 
the  steps  they  seemed  to  revel  in ;  I  find  it  hard  at  such 
times  to  keep  these  two  hands  off  the  necks  of  the  gray¬ 
haired  roues  who  now  and  then  appear  upon  the  scene. 
I  tremble  for  the  boyhood  and  the  girlhood  of  the  land, 
and,  thinking  of  my  own,  pray  God  with  agony  of  soul, 
to  save  them  from  the  body  of  such  death. 

But  I  have  no  time  for  certain  implications  of  the 
devil’s  riddle.  I  turned  to  my  friend  a  little  later,  and 
said,  “You  wouldn’t  care  to  say  that  all,  nor  nearly  all, 
nor  many  of  those  lassies  and  those  lads  are  evil?” 
He  waited,  and  I  continued,  “And  I  am  glad  when  I 
watch  them  that  God  reminds  me  that  the  population 
of  the  metropolitan  area  of  Hew  York  is  nine  mil¬ 
lions.” 

And  his  face  sobered  as  he  came  upon  a  new  thought. 
How  few  there  are,  after  all,  who  live  out  at  the  moral 
extremes  of  society,  even  in  Hew  York!  Listen,  it  so 
happens  that  my  friendship  circle  which,  because  of 
circumstances  in  my  ministry  that  have  made  me  a 
wanderer  on  the  face  of  the  earth  is  very  wide,  does 
not,  to  my  knowledge,  include  a  husband  and  wife 
separated  by  law;  nor  a  man  who  committed  murder. 
It  has  in  it  ghastly  figures  of  suffering  and  grief  and 
sin;  and  standing  out  like  a  rugged  peak  of  renuncia¬ 
tion,  confession  and  transformation,  is  one  man  who 
betrayed  a  trust;  confessed  a  crime;  served  a  sentence 
in  a  federal  prison,  and  then  returned  to  his  own  peo¬ 
ple  to  win  back  all.  that  he  had  lost,  and  more. 

I  distrust  the  individual  to-day  who  persists  in  say¬ 
ing,  with  a  knowing  half -leer :  “He  has  his  price, — if 
you  can  find  it”;  “You  can  get  him  if  you  go  after 


What  the  Devil  Ashed 


79 


him  right.”  That  man  says  more  than  he  realises; 
tells  too  much  about  himself.  “Does  Job  fear  God  for 
naught?”  I  believe  in  Job. 

Every  man  who  serves  God,  serves  Him  for  naught. 
Any  man  who  in  selfishness  puts  a  price  on  his  labour 
when  he  turns  to  the  Architect  of  the  universe,  in  reply 
to  the  “help-wanted”  advertisement  of  the  eternities, 
finds  himself  without  work,  not  because  the  work  is 
done  and  not  because  the  Master  of  the  workmen  is 
unreasonable,  or  unwilling,  but  because  he  himself  has 
laid  down  a  condition  that  not  even  God  can  meet.  A 
religion  dependent  upon  temporal  rewards  is  not  true 
religion;  is  not  Christian;  for  religion  is  an  experi¬ 
ence  of  the  soul,  and  the  soul  cannot  live  on  bread  and 
meat  and  physical  reward.  There  were  those  who  fol¬ 
lowed  J esus  because  He  distributed  fish  and  cakes ;  not 
a  small  company  they  made:  but  they  did  not  fear 
Him,  love  Him,  serve  Him,  and  in  reality  these  got 
nothing  from  Him. 

The  gifts  of  God  are  different;  they  are  unique. 
Cakes  and  fish  are  found  in  many  shops.  Ho,  the 
multitude  that  came  out  from  the  towns  to  sit  at  His 
feet  and  munch  sandwiches,  those  who  came  for  that 
purpose  -had  scarcely  managed  their  last  swallow,  be¬ 
fore  they  were  howling,  “Crucify  Him.”  Those  who 
fear,  who  serve  God,  serve  Him  for  naught.  It  took 
the  disciples  some  time  to  discover  this ;  they  quarrelled 
over  the  seats  they  desired  to  occupy  in  the  Heavenly 
kingdom;  they  had  not  learned  the  lesson  when  Cal¬ 
vary  reared  its  skull-shaped  head  above  their  path ;  but 
they  learned  it!  They  learned  it!  Does  Job  fear  God 
for  naught?  Ask  Stephen  and  Peter  and  John  and 
Paul! 

But  religion  and  worldly  prosperity  very  frequently 


80 


What  Men  Need  Most 


go  forward  hand  in  hand.  Job  is  not  the  only  man 
who  has  been  both  rich  and  godly;  honoured  and  hon¬ 
est.  Nor  is  poverty  necessarily  a  sign  of  purity,  or 
misfortune  a  mark  of  godliness.  Other  things  being 
equal,  a  Christian  ought,  to  have  a  better  chance  for 
honest  temporal  success  than  a  sinner.  I  am  fully  per¬ 
suaded  that  honesty, — plain,  old-fashioned  honesty, — 
is  the  best  policy.  But  no  Christian  asks  God  to  give 
him  an  automobile,  a  bank  account,  a  cabinet  position, 
or  domestic  felicity,  as  a  return  for  being  Christlike. 
And  it  is  equally  true  that  the  graces  and  the  unique 
powers  of  religion  cannot  be  purchased.  You  perhaps 
recall  the  disillusionment  of  Simon  the  Sorcerer : 
“Now  when  Simon,”  the  Scripture  runs,  “saw  that 
through  the  laying  on  of  the  apostles’  hands  the  Holy 
Ghost  was  given,  he  offered  them  money  .  .  .  but  Peter 
said  unto  him,  Thy  silver  perish  with  thee,  because 
thou  hast  sought  to  obtain  the  gift  of  God  with  money.” 
Profit  and  piety  are,  as  another  has  said,  “utterly  irre¬ 
concilable  in  religious  thought  and  motive,  although 
they  are  often  and  naturally  coincident  in  practical 
life.” 

The  rewards  of  God  for  those  who  truly  serve  Him, 
the  rewards  that  do  not  wait  for  eternity,  are  spiritual, 
and  therefore  abiding.  The  Christian  may  not  be  as¬ 
sured  temporal  blessings  or  even  physical  immunities, 
because  he  is  a  Christian ;  he  may  even  see  the  ungodly 
man  favoured  in  his  storehouse  and  market  above  the 
children  of  light.  But  he  is  assured  attention  and 
approbation, — divine  attention  and  approbation.  God 
looketh  upon  a  good  man  with  approval;  a  good  man 
findeth  favour  in  his  sight.  To  those  who  love  God 
such  attention  and  such  approbation  mean  infinitely 
more  than  gold. 


What  the  Devil  Asked 


81 


I  have  a  friend  whose  grandfather  was  a  Virginia 
slave-owner  before  the  Civil  War.  When  that  dark  / 
tragedy  of  divided  households  settled  down  upon  the 
land,  he  donned  a  uniform  of  grey  and  went  out  to  i 
give  his  youth,  his  all,  to  his  state.  Behind  him  were 
the  holiest  values  of  his  life, — a  young  wife  and  an 
infant  son.  In  the  sad  days  which  followed,  the  time 
came  when  the  darker  evils  of  war, — fear,  the  fear  of 
violence  and  hunger,  starvation, — approached  the  white 
house  in  which  the  young  mother  and  her  helpless  child 
sat  in  their  agony  of  waiting.  Then  two  negroes,  a 
black  woman  and  a  black  man,  two  of  the  new  free-  ' 
men,  refused  the  gift  of  emancipation,  scorned  the 
alluring  promises  of  their  old  plantation  associates,  and 
without  a  promise  or  a  hope  of  reward  stood  guard 
over  that  distracted  home.  They  tended  the  pitiful 
crops ;  they  kept  the  fires  upon  the  hearth  and  the  milk 
in  the  crocks ;  they  filled  the  long  winter  evenings  with 
their  sona:s  and  in  the  bosom  of  their  childlike  faith 
nourished  the  soul,  comforted  the  mind  of  their  mis¬ 
tress  whose  love  was  often  close  to  despair.  I 

When  after  Appomattox  the  husband  and  father  re¬ 
turned,  a  broken  and  penniless  man,  and  found  them 
standing  guard,  the  only  reward  that  he  could  offer 
them  was  gratitude, — gratitude  unutterable,  unmeas¬ 
urable.  But  that  was  all  he  could  have  paid  them  had 
he  come  back  a  millionaire.  Their  cup  of  happiness 
overflowed ;  only  a  few  years  ago  that  old  master,  a 
grey-haired  Confederate  veteran,  stood  in  the  Senate  of 
his  state  and  said,  “When  I  am  tempted  to  doubt  my 
God  and  my  fellowman,  I  wander  in  memory,  if  not  in 
fact,  to  the  private  burial  plot  behind  the  house  where 
I  was  born,  and  stop  beside  two  graves,  the  graves  that 
hold  the  sacred  dust  of  my  coloured  mammy  and  her 


82 


What  Men  Need  Most 


)  son,  who  kept  the  greater  curse  of  war  from  my  loved 
'  ones  while  I  fought,  who  without  a  thought  of  gain 
‘  scorned  freedom  and  risked  their  lives,  because  they 
loved  me  and  my  people.  I  never  paid  them  because  I 
never  could,  and  because  I  understood.”  The  highest 
reward  is  the  attention  and  approbation  of  one  we  love 
and  the  greatest  gift  a  man  may  receive  is  God’s  recog- 
I  nition  and  understanding. 

Men  and  women,  there  are  relationships  and  associa¬ 
tions  in  life  which  are  “ desecrated”  by  the  very  thought 
of  temporal  profit,  of  worldly  gain.  Let  us  paraphrase 
that  text  again;  “Does  a  mother  serve  her  children  for 
naught?”  What  conditions  your  attitude  toward  your 
child?  Have  you  ever  stopped  to  analyse  your  feel¬ 
ings  toward  your  son  or  your  daughter?  Why  do  you 
love  them,  plan  for  them,  dream  for  them,  worry  about 
them,  toss  restless  upon  your  sleepless  bed  pondering 
the  problems  that  affect  them?  Why?  Because  they 
will  repay  you  some  day,  somehow?  You  don’t  even 
give  consideration  in  seriousness  to  my  query. 

I  say,  there  are  relationships  in  life  that  are  dese¬ 
crated  by  the  very  thought  of  profit,  temporal  gain. 
Is  friendship  conditioned  upon  cash  returns?  God 
pity  you  if  yours  is,  for  then  you  have  never  possessed 
a  friend.  Some  years  ago  a  Boston  man  of  wealth  was 
approached  by  one  of  his  long-time  associates  with  the 
request  for  a  loan.  The  man  approached,  hesitated 
for  a  moment  and  then  said,  “I  can’t  loan  you  money ; 
for  I  won’t  think  of  you  in  terms  of  business.  You 
may  be  willing  that  I  should,  but  I  can’t  afford  to. 
Take  the  money  and  let  me  forget  it.  Then  if  you 
can’t  forget,  give  it  back  some  day  when  I’m  not  look¬ 
ing.”  The  man  may  have  been  lacking  in  sound  busi¬ 
ness  judgment,  but  I  am  bound  to  believe  that  his 


What  the  Devil  Ashed 


83 


instinct  was  sound,  that  it  did  not  lead  him  astray,  for 
there  are  relationships  which  are  desecrated  by  the  very 
thought  of  gain. 

The  highest  achievements  in  science,  the  most  sub¬ 
lime  creations  in  art,  have  been  the  children  of  the 
womb  of  poverty,  and  of  the  lap  of  unselfish  sacrifice. 

Another  has  said,  “It  is  only  when  we  serve  God  for 
naught  that  we  discover  the  infinite  riches  God’s  naught 
stands  for.”  The  affairs  of  the  heart;  the  arrange¬ 
ments  of  genius;  the  high  adventures  of  the  human 
mind;  the  conquests  of  the  immortal  soul; — these  oc¬ 
cupy  realms  among  the  relationships  which  are  dese¬ 
crated  by  the  very  thought  of  temporal  gain.  And  I 
say  to  you  that  human  nature  is  capable  of  far  more 
disinterestedness  than  we  give  it  credit  for.  Don’t 
doubt  your  fellows : — trust  them ;  believe  in  them.  Of 
course  you  will  be  disappointed  in  some  and  deceived 
in  others;  disappointed  and  deceived  in  the  future  as 
you  have  been  in  the  past.  But  keep  on  believing. 
Make  it  a  habit  of  your  mind ;  the  exercise  will  enrich 
and  beautify  your  own  soul  and  it  will  make  others 
better  than  they  ever  dreamed  they  could  become.  God 
only  knows  how  much  of  cleansing  in  my  heart  has  been 
accomplished  by  the  faith  that  my  friends  have  dared 
repose  in  me.  God  trusts  us!  Let  us  emulate  His 
spirit,  and  trust  each  other.  Down  with  the  devil’s 
riddle,  and  its  unsavory  satellites  of  cynicism  and  sus¬ 
picion. 

Do  you  say,  Ah,  well,  one  never  knows,  though,  until 
the  test  comes.  Lob  without  the  boils  is  not  Job.  To 
be  sure,  but  by  the  goodly  examples  that  Job  and  the 
rest  have  set  out  before  us,  I  elect  to  believe,  to  believe, 
— not  to  doubt;  to  believe,  until  Job  by  his  failure  in 
the  test  proves  the  implications  of  the  devil’s  riddle,  to 


84 


What  Men  Need  Most 


be  true  and  not  to  doubt,  to  doubt  with  soul-destroying 
cynicism  and  miserable  speculations,  until  the  perse¬ 
cuted  hero,  surrounded  by  his  mockers  and  false 
friends,  has  vindicated  himself. 

Job  is  a  supreme  illustration  of  the  fact  that  supreme 
characters  are  revealed  only  by  great  ordeals,  and  fre¬ 
quently  great  ordeals  reveal  individuals  we  had  ap¬ 
praised  as  commonplace  or  ordinary,  as  supreme.  I 
remember  a  Victoria  Cross  captain  of  the  Gordon 
Highlanders  whom  I  met  in  London  during  the  war. 
He  was  having  his  first  leave  in  three  years;  had  just 
returned  from  the  front  in  Mesopotamia.  We  travelled 
as  far  as  Glasgow  together.  When  the  war  opened  he 
was  a  second-rate  pugilist.  One  of  the  characters  I 
remember  best  of  all  those  glorious  fellows  I  came  to 
know  in  France  had  been  a  shoe  salesman  in  a  small 
central  western  town.  I  cannot  think  of  him  without 
a  warm  glow  flooding  my  soul.  Hoes  Job  fear  God 
for  naught?  Absolutely  yes,  Mr.  Devil.  You  don’t 
know  it;  you  can’t  know,  but  there  are  relationships 
and  dedications  in  life  which  are  desecrated  by  the 
very  thought  of  gain. 

Finally,  we  will  not  overlook  the  fact  that  Job,  not 
God,  answered  the  devil’s  question,  the  question  Satan 
asked  of  the  Heavenly  Father.  And  Job  answered,  not 
as  speaks  a  witness  in  the  chair,  but  with  his  life.  Job 
answered  with  ruined  crops  and  burned  storehouses,  a 
broken  household  and  a  diseased,  festering  body.  Yes, 
Job’s  answer  cost  much,  and  nearly  all. 

Do  I  serve  God  for  naught,  or  have  I  named  my 
price?  I  rather  think  that  the  question  is  especially 
timely  for  the  minister  to-day,  and  I  have  been  think¬ 
ing  about  it  in  the  light  of  an  old  experience.  Years 
ago  a  young  preacher  stood  in  the  combination  parlour, 


What  the  Devil  Asked 


85 


dining-room  and  sitting-room  of  a  small  home  mis¬ 
sionary  parsonage,  stood  in  front  of  a  small  air-tight 
wood  stove  with  a  letter  in  his  hand.  He  was  slowly 
reading  the  letter  to  his  wife.  It  was  to  the  man  a 
remarkable  communication, — a  call  to  a  city  church 
and  to  a  salary  of  $1,500.00 — exactly  five  times  the 
salary  he  was  then  receiving,  a  call  to  personal  oppor¬ 
tunity  in  study,  to  the  fellowship  with  kindred  spirits 
and  to  the  pride  of  preaching. 

As  he  finished  reading  he  looked  beyond  his  young 
wife  and  out  through  the  window  to  the  half-finished 
church  building.  The  carpenters  had  laid  down  their 
tools  when  he  had  picked  up  that  letter  to  read  it  to 
his  wife !  The  little  house  in  which  he  stood,  his  hands 
had  nailed  together;  and  now  his  eyes  dropped  to  the 
slight  figure  of  the  beautiful  girl  in  front  of  him,  the 
bride  he  had  led  three  thousand  miles  from  home  and 
kindred  to  share  with  him  the  hardships  of  a  pioneer 
life. 

What  he  found  in  those  steadfast,  unfaltering  eyes 
of  brown  must  have  reassured  him,  for  he  reached  out 
and  drew  her  into  the  circle  of  his  arm,  lifted  the  top 
of  the  old  air-tight  stove  and  with  a  melodramatic 
flourish,  an  air  of  high  mock  tragedy,  he  dropped  the 
“call”  into  the  flame  that  leaped  up  to  receive  it.  That 
was  years  ago,  but  to  the  eyes  of  one  who  saw  it  all, 
the  picture  of  the  strong  man  and  the  beautiful  woman, 
and  the  letter  falling  into  the  stove,  will  never  fade. 

Doth  Job  fear  God  for  naught?  There  are  some 
things  that  the  very  thought  of  gain  desecrates. 


8 


THE  GRIP  THAT  HOLDS 

Text :  St.  Matthew  17 : 20.  “If  ye  have 
faith  .  .  .  nothing  shall  he  impossible  unto 
you ” 

Years  ago  I  went  with  a  famous  Indian  artist  and 
others  on  a  fishing  and  picture  expedition  into  the  Cas¬ 
cade  Mountains  in  Oregon.  One  afternoon,  near  the 
head  waters  of  the  Hood  River,  a  few  miles  below  the 
Hood  River  Glacier,  I  had  an  experience  out  of  which 
this  message  comes. 

Our  party  had  for  several  miles  followed  the  “hur¬ 
ricane-deck”  of  a  precipitous  range  of  lesser  mountains, 
when  it  became  necessary  to  descend  to  the  river  level 
for  a  greatly  desired  picture.  The  two  United  States 
forest-rangers  who  were  piloting  us  began  cautiously 
to  drop  downward.  After  a  time,  being  somewhat 
familiar  with  the  country  generally,  and  growing  im¬ 
patient  with  our  slow  progress,  I  started  off  alone  by 
what  I  thought  to  be  a  more  direct  and  an  easier  way. 

The  region  of  the  Cascades,  in  which  we  were, 

abounds  in  great  ledges  and  slides  of  decomposed  or 

“rotten”  granite.  Often  what  at  first  appears  to  be  a 

safe  and  sound  path  crumbles  suddenly  beneath  the 

climber’s  feet.  I  had  taken  only  a  few  steps  from  my 

companions  when  my  footing  failed,  and,  sprawling 

headlong,  I  shot  over  the  ledge.  I  still  have  very  vivid 

86 


87 


The  Grip  That  Holds 

recollections  of  how  that  thread  of  a  river  looked  with 
its  spray  dashing  into  mist  against  jagged,  up-reaching 
rocks,  several  hundred  feet  below. 

But,  fortunately  for  my  story,  a  kind  Providence  had 
timed  and  directed  my  fall.  Out  from  the  sheer  wall 
of  the  cliff  at  my  “point  of  departure”  grew  a  sturdy 
little  mountain-pine.  For  five  miles  in  either  direc¬ 
tion  I  have  scanned  that  mountain-side  for  a  similar 
growth, — in  vain.  It  was  the  one  place  where  my  acro¬ 
batic  demonstration  could  he  completed  without  the 
assistance  of  an  undertaker.  Madly  I  hurled  myself 
upon  the  tiny  tree.  Its  twisted  trunk  was  scarcely 
larger  than  my  two  wrists.  I  clutched  it  with  my 
hands.  I  entwined  it  with  my  limbs,  and  prayed  that 
it  might  not  fail, — and  all  this  in  a  winged  second  of 
time  that  was  an  eternity  of  fear.  The  tree  held ! 

After  my  horror-stricken  companions  had  lifted  me 
to  safety,  and  I  had  recovered  my  nerve  sufficiently  to 
complete  the  journey, — following  the  guide , — I  stood 
by  the  boiling,  thundering  stream,  and  looked  up  at 
the  little  tree.  Gnarled,  stunted,  scarred  by  the  rocks 
of  avalanches,  it  was  not  a  thing  of  beauty;  but  I  am 
sure  that  you  will  understand  me  when  I  say  that  it 
looked  better  to  me  than  any  lordly  sequoia  of  the 
forest. 

Out  of  that  mountain  experience,  so  nearly  a  tragedy, 
has  come  to  my  life  a  message  well  worth  the  terror 
of  the  ordeal — a  message  of  faith,  a  message  of  power 
for  service,  a  message  of  triumph,- — the  message  of  the 
grip  that  holds. 

A  tiny  seed  falls  into  the  narrow  crevice  of  a  mighty 
granite  cliff.  The  warmth  of  the  sun-heated  stone 
opens  a  way  for  the  first  eager  rootlet.  The  rootlet 
follows  the  moisture-widened  seam  into  the  very  breast 


88 


What  Men  Need  Most 


of  the  precipice.  It  grows,  strengthens,  and  multi¬ 
plies.  It  forces  new  chambers,  establishes  new  strong¬ 
holds  for  itself,  and  its  fellows.  The  tree  develops. 
It  beats  away  the  unfriendly  storm,  and  hardens  in  the 
tempest.  When  spring  opens,  and  slides  thunder  down 
upon  it  from  the  upper  heights,  it  fastens  itself  the 
more  firmly  in  the  heart  of  the  mountain.  And,  when 
it  stands  between  the  plunging  body  of  a  careless  man 
and  broken  ledges  far  below,  it  does  not  fail;  its  grip 
holds. 


Tradition 

What  is  the  grip  that  holds?  It  is  the  grip  of 
tradition.  Tradition  handles  the  strong  man  as  a 
nurse  handles  the  babe;  and  it  is  master  of  trades,  in¬ 
dustries,  labour,  and  systems  of  business.  It  is  the 
director  of  our  simplest  habits;  it  clothes  us,  shaves 
us,  feeds  us,  and  smiles  for  us.  It  gowns  woman.  It 
says,  “Yes,”  for  the  child,  and  “Ho.”  It  is  polite  and 
impolite;  circumspect  and  cruel;  it  is  good  and  it  is 
bad.  Here  it  binds  a  church  with  the  usages  of  yes¬ 
terday,  and  holds  her  eyes  closed  to  the  larger  meaning 
of  “Feed  my  lambs,”  while  yonder  it  fastens  a  poten¬ 
tially  great  philanthropy  in  the  groove  of  mere 
charitv. 

t / 

Only  a  few  years  ago  tradition  called  the  Wright 
brothers  fools.  Tradition  said  the  world  was  flat,  and 
sent  snapping  curs  and  mobs  tapping  their  foreheads 
after  a  certain  citizen  of  Genoa  who  declared  that  the 
world  was  round.  Tradition  says  that  things  are  and 
will  be,  because  they  were.  It  is  the  friend  of  both 
good  and  evil,  and  frequently  the  enemy  of  better  and 
best. 


89 


The  Grip  That  Holds 

How  strong  is  tlie  grip  of  tradition  ?  He  knows  who 
has  struggled  to  break  it.  Statesman,  teacher,  artist, 
inventor,  prophet,  reformer,  business  man,  and  school¬ 
boy, — these  all  have  felt  its  heavy  hand.  We  are  all 
in  the  grip  of  tradition.  And  he  who  breaks  the  grip 
of  tradition  where  it  is  evil,  is  every  whit  a  man. 

But  there  are  worthy  traditions,  kindly,  smiling,  holy 
traditions.  There  are  landmarks  of  faith  and  practice ; 
there  are  traditions  of  truth  and  hope ;  there  are  treas¬ 
ured  memories,  and  habits  of  prayer  and  ministry  that 
are  as  the  perfect  fruits  of  an  unscarred  tree.  Men 
do  well  to  be  held  in  the  groove  of  an  ethical  standard 
that  a  less  complex  business  life  fixed;  men  do  well  to 
cherish  the  prejudice  against  a  lie  and  the  reverence 
for  liberty  that  opened  wounds  in  the  bodies  of  their 
fathers ;  men  do  well  to  honour  an  ancient  virtue  by  the 
continued  application  of  its  truth.  Tradition  has 
bands  that  can  be  broken  only  with  infinite  loss  to 
mankind. 


Knowledge 

What  is  the  grip  that  holds  1  The  grip  that  holds  is 
the  grip  of  knowledge.  The  world  has  no  successful 
protest  or  argument  against  knowledge.  The  world 
surrenders  to  the  man  who  knows.  Generally  men  and 
women  fail  in  business  or  politics  because  they  do  not 
know.  “My  people  are  destroyed  for  lack  of  knowl¬ 
edge.”  The  call  of  industry,  the  call  of  the  church, 
the  call  of  public  life  everywhere,  is  for  men  and 
women  who  know.  The  greatest  discovery  that  any 
man  ever  makes  is  the  discovery  of  himself,  his 
strength  and  weakness,  his- true  relation  to  life. 

Emerson  has  said  that  no  great  task  is  ever  accom- 


90 


What  Men  Need  Most 


plished  without  enthusiasm,  and  there  can  he  no  last¬ 
ing  fervour  of  enthusiasm  without  knowledge.  No  man 
becomes  greatly  in  earnest  over  a  proposition  with 
which  he  is  not  thoroughly  familiar.  Information 
plus  inspiration  multiplied  by  perspiration  equals  con¬ 
summation;  this  is  the  equation  of  victory. 

A  few  generations  ago  the  Northwest  was  an  un¬ 
known  and  unappreciated  country  to  the  East.  The 
president  of  the  United  States  announced  that  it  was 
not  worth  a  struggle  with  England.  Daniel  Webster 
said  that  it  was  not  worth  while  because  the  day  would 
never  come  when  a  railroad  would  cross  the  Rockies; 
that  the  Oregon  country  was  forever  too  far  removed 
from  the  centres  of  world-trade. 

But  Marcus  Whitman  with  his  “golden-haired  Nar- 
cissa”  “farther  than  flew  the  imperial  eagles  of  Rome/’ 
journeyed  from  New  England  to  his  life’s  work  on  the 
Columbia.  He  saw  the  great  rivers  crowded  with  fish, 
the  mighty  mountains  crowned  with  forests  of  emerald, 
the  far-stretching,  fertile  valleys,  and  the  sunset  ocean 
with  its  fabulous  commerce  of  centuries  to  be.  He 
came  to  know  what  others  had  not  dreamed  of. 

Marcus  Whitman  was  a  patriot  as  well  as  a  mis¬ 
sionary  ;  he  loved  his  country ;  and,  when  there  reached 
his  ears  the  Hudson  Bay  traders’  whispered  plottings, 
he  turned  his  pony’s  head  toward  Washington.  Across 
a  frozen  continent  he  rode,  the  mightiest  ride  of  his¬ 
tory. 

Reaching  Washington  after  unspeakable  hardships, 
he  told  his  story.  So  well  did  he  tell  it,  because  he 
Itnew,  that  the  president’s  mind  was  changed,  Daniel 
Webster’s  mind  was  changed,  and  in  the  early  spring 
the  intrepid  pioneer,  preacher  and  patriot  turned  his 
face  again  toward  the  Northwest,  this  time  at  the  head 


The  Grip  That  Holds  91 

of  the  first  caravan  of  settlers  to  cross  the  great  West¬ 
ern  wilderness. 

Ah,  what  a  journey  it  was!  The  rivers  were  full 
of  rotten  ice,  and  there  was  no  grass  on  the  prairies. 
The  Indians  were  unfriendly,  and  the  passes  of  the 
Rockies  were  still  choked  with  snow.  Often  the  faint¬ 
hearted  murmured,  and  would  have  turned  back.  But 
in  the  hours  of  deepest  gloom  Marcus  Whitman  stood 
before  his  followers  and  told  them  of  the  Oregon  coun¬ 
try.  With  flaming  eyes  and  burning  cheeks  he  told 
them  of  great  rivers,  fertile  valleys,  and  the  far- 
reaching  sea.  And  always  he  pointed  to  the  flag.  He 
knew. 

They  did  not  turn  back.  They  followed  on  and  on. 
Some  died  and  were  buried  in  that  first,  unmarked 
Oregon  trail;  but  those  ‘‘heralds  of  empire”  fixed  their 
faces  as  a  flint  on  the  sunset.  They  possessed  the  land, 
and  to-day  the  Stars  and  Stripes  has  four  stars,  Ore¬ 
gon,  Washington,  Idaho  and  Montana,  because  Marcus 
Whitman  knew. 


Faith 

What  is  the  grip  that  holds?  Faith  is  the  grip  that 
holds.  Xot  tradition,  for  tradition  is  broken  and  set 
aside ;  not  knowledge,  for  knowledge  “passeth  away” 
and  the  present  knowledge  becomes  to-morrow’s  tradi¬ 
tion.  The  wTorld  surrenders  to  the  man  who  knows, 
but  heaven  and  earth  belong  to  the  man  of  faith. 

What  do  we  know?  How  much  absolute  knowledge 
have  we  to-day  ?  The  farmer  plants  the  seed,  tends 
the  crop,  gathers  the  harvest,  without  knowing  the 
chemistry  of  the  grain.  The  motorman  drives  the 
electric  car  without  having  fathomed  the  mystery  of 


92 


What  Men  Need  Most 


the  electric  fluid;  and  how  it  goes  even  Edison  knows 
not,  hut  he  knows  that  it  goes!  We  see  results  and. 
effects;  our  knowledge  of  causes,  our  real  knowledge, 
is  limited.  And  how  little  we  know  of  what  we  really 
may  know!  How  many  legs  has  a  fly? 

We  sit,  we  eat,  we  stand,  we  walk,  we  ride,  by  faith. 
“We  live  by  faith.”  The  man  who  denies  God  because 
he  cannot  understand  Him  is  one  of  the  most  incon¬ 
sistent  fellows  in  the  world,  because  he  continues  to 
live,  and  who  has  explained  life  ?  My  best  things,  my 
holiest  treasures,  are  those  intangible,  mysterious 
gifts,  that  mortal  mind  has  never  fathomed — friend¬ 
ship,  my  mother’s  smile,  the  love  of  the  mother  of  my 
children,  faith,  God. 

Eaith  sent  messages  under  the  sea  years  before  the 
first  Atlantic  cable  was  laid.  Faith  has  bridged  every 
great  river  and  opened  every  deep  mine.  Faith  tun¬ 
nelled  the  Hudson  and  dug  the  Panama  Canal.  Faith 
finds  a  desert  and  leaves  a  waving  wheat-field,  a  blos¬ 
soming  orchard,  a  garden  in  full  bloom.  Faith  swings 
the  cranes  of  industry,  raises  cities  in  the  wilderness, 
outlives  oppression,  advances  steadily  the  whole  social 
order,  and  lifts  men  and  women  above  angels.  Faith 
is  the  only  bridge  that  ever  spanned  the  grave,  the  only 
knight  who  ever  conquered  death. 

Faith  spoke,  and  Abraham  journeyed  into  the  west, 
pitching  his  tent  and  building  his  altars.  Faith  spoke, 
and  Moses  led  Israel  out  of  Egypt,  and  gave  the  world 
her  laws.  Faith  spoke,  and  science  brought  inventions 
and  medicine  and  great  learning  and  a  million  helpful 
things  and  dropped  them  into  the  outstretched  hands 
of  the  race.  Faith  spoke,  and  kingdoms  rose  and  fell 
as  Faith  willed.  Faith  spoke,  and  the  Bible  was 
opened,  the  Magna  Charta  was  given,  the  western 


93 


The  Grip  That  Holds 

world  was  discovered,  and  liberty  found  a  new  name. 
Faith  spoke,  and  Washington  led  the  ragged  Conti¬ 
nentals  from  Lexington  to  Yorktown.  Faith  spoke, 
and  Abraham  Lincoln  by  way  of  Appomattox  and  his 
own  Golgotha  guided  the  republic  through  tempestuous 
seas  of  slavery  and  disunion  into  the  safe  harbour  of 
“liberty  and  union,  now  and  forever,  one  and  insepa¬ 
rable.”  Faith  spoke,  and  the  Galilean  freed  the  souls 
of  men  from  time’s  beginning  to  its  end. 

And  faith  is  speaking,  and  faith  will  speak, — will 
speak  until  labour  and  capital  understand  each  other; 
until  business  is  firmly  established  in  its  just  profits, 
and  the  man  who  toils  wfith  his  hands  enjoys  an  ade¬ 
quate  return  for  the  sweat  of  his  brow;  until  little 
children  are  no  longer  sacrificed  to  mines  and  factories, 
and  the  virtue  of  women  is  no  longer  bartered  to  the 
lust  of  man;  until  the  comity  of  nations  is  no  longer 
a  theory  alone,  but  spreads  over  all  the  earth  in  a 
benign  mantle  of  peace  and  brotherhood.  “If  ye  have 
faith  nothing  shall  be  impossible  unto  you.” 

Joaquin  Miller  might  well  have  given  his  “Colum¬ 
bus”  another  name,  and  called  it  “Faith.” 

“Behind  him  lay  the  grey  Azores, 

Behind  the  gates  of  Ilercules ; 

Before  him  not  the  ghost  of  shores, 

Before  him  only  shoreless  seas. 

The  good  mate  said,  ‘Yow  must  we  pray, 

For  lo !  the  very  stars  are  gone; 

Brave  Admiral,  speak,  what  shall  I  say  V 
‘Why,  say,  “Sail  on!  sail  on!  and  on!”? 

“  ‘My  men  grow  mutinous  day  by  day ; 

My  men  grow  ghastly  wan  and  weak.’ 

The  stout  mate  thought  of  home;  a  spray 
Of  salt  wave  washed  his  swarthy  cheek. 


94 


What  Men  Need  Most 


‘What  shall  I  say,  brave  Admiral,  say, 

If  we  sight  naught  but  seas  at  dawn?’ 

‘.Why,  you  shall  say,  at  break  of  day, 

“Sail  on!  sail  on!  sail  on!  and  on!77  7 

“They  sailed  and  sailed  as  winds  might  blow, 
Until  at  last  the  blanched  mate  said: 

‘Why,  now  not  even  God  would  know 
Should  I  and  all  my  men  fall  dead. 

These  very  winds  forget  their  way, 

For  God  from  these  dread  seas  is  gone. 

How  speak,  brave  Admiral,  speak  and  say — 7 
He  said,  ‘Sail  on!  sail* on!  and  on!7 

“They  sailed.  They  sailed.  Then  spake  the  mate: 

‘This  mad  sea  shows  his'  teeth  to-night. 

He  curls  his  lip,  he  lies  in  wait, 

With  lifted  teeth  as  if  to  bite ! 

Brave  Admiral,  say  but  one  good  word: 

What  shall  we  do  when  hope  is  gone  V 
The  words  leaped  like  a  leaping  sword: 

‘Sail  on!  sail  on!  sail  on!  sail  on!7 

“Then  pale  and  worn  he  kept  the  deck, 

And  peered  through  darkness.  Ah,  that  night 
Of* all  dark  nights !  And  then  a  speck, — 

A  light !  A  light !  A  light !  A  light ! 

It  grew  a  star-lit  flag  unfurled! 

It  grew  to  be  Time’s  burst  of  dawn; 

He  gained  a  world;  he  gave  that  world 
Its  grandest  lesson,  ‘On,  sail  on  !7  77 


9 

DANIEL,  THE  HEBREW  WHO  PURPOSED  * 


Text :  Daniel  1 :  8.  “But  Daniel  purposed 
in  his  heart  that  he  would  not  defile  himself 

I  must  frankly  confess  that  I  cannot  sympathise 
with  those  unfortunate  individuals  who  have  struggled 
along  through  the  years  with  names  that  they  despise, 
for  I  have  always  liked  my  name.  But,  lest  credit  he 
given  me  that  I  do  not  deserve,  I  must  make  another 
confession  and  admit  that  my  name  was  not  popular 
with  me  at  the  beginning  because  of  its  Biblical  asso¬ 
ciations. 

I  fell  in  love  with  the  name  Daniel  because  of  a 
horse !  At  the  foot  of  a  hill  called  “Piety,”  because 
three  ministers  lived  upon  it,  in  the  quiet  Oregon  town 
of  my  childhood,  resided  the  “Senator,”  a  kindly  man 
of  rugged  worth,  who  was  the  father  of  my  boyhood 
chum.  The  “Senator”  owned  the  splendid  animal  that 
from  the  first  day  I  saw  him — and  I  was  a  very  small 
lad  then — caused  me  to  glory  in  the  name  my  parents 
had  assigned  to  me,  the  first-born  of  their  nine  chil¬ 
dren. 

What  a  horse  he  was!  He  was  as  black  as  night, 
with  flowing  curly  mane  and  thick,  glossy,  though  not 
over-long  tail.  His  broad  back  curved  easily  over  hips 
of  huge  proportions,  and  his  limbs  were  as  flawless  as 

*From  a  series  of  sermons  prepared  for  The  Christian  En¬ 
deavor  World  by  writers  bearing  Bible  names. 

95 


96 


What  Men  Need  Most 


the  chiselled  work  of  a  master  sculptor.  His  ample 
neck  was  proudly  arched  and  fixed  between  mighty 
shoulders.  His  great  head  was  never  lowered  for  more 
than  an  instant,  and  his  eyes  were  brimming  lakes  set 
kindly  wide  in  a  forehead  smooth  and  deep.  His  ears 
were  as  delicately  poised  as  a  woman’s;  his  spirit  was 
the  spirit  of  the  high  mountains  where  he  was  sired; 
and  his  name  was  “Dan.” 

Of  course  I  have  long  since  learned  that  in  addition 
to  having  been  arbitrarily  fixed  as  an  abbreviation  of 
Daniel,  the  name  Dan  stands  alone  with  a  distinction 
quite  its  own.  But  Dan  was  the  nickname  fastened 
upon  me  after  the  passing  of  the  diminutive  Danny, 
which  I  despised,  and  this  Dan  of  life’s  intimacies 
with  the  Daniel,  now  more  intelligently  valued  than 
when  the  great  horse  gave  me  my  first  heartiness  for  it, 
have  always  been  to  me  one  and  the  same. 

Of  course  when  the  heroic  Hebrew  of  the  Scriptures 
stood  before  me,  and  my  soul  began  to  apprehend  the 
heights  and  depths  of  him,  my  whole  mental  attitude 
changed,  and  from  a  boisterous  spirit  of  self-congratu¬ 
lation  I  became  quiet  and  humble.  Since  the  first 
change  in  my  spiritual  attitude  toward  the  name 
Daniel,  the  change  from  loud  to  quiet,  from  self- 
satisfaction  to  self-searching,  there  has  come  no  other 
change ;  for  who  could  ever  be  worthy  of  such  a  name, 
however  proud  he  may  be  to  bear  it? 

Daniel,  the  divine  judge  of  the  Scriptures,  given 
the  name  Belteshazzar  by  the  prince  of  the  eunuchs, 
was  royal  born  and  lived  a  royal  life.  He  was  led 
away  as  a  captive  into  a  land  not  of  his  fathers,  but 
his  soul  was  never  in  chains,  for  he  never  surrendered 
the  spiritual  authority  of  his  life.  It  takes  a  real  man 
to  survive  riches;  poverty  is  more  easily  borne.  Do 


Daniel ,  the  Hebrew  Who  Purposed  97 

not  pity  the  child  reared  in  worthy  surroundings,  how¬ 
ever  humble;  but  children  of  the  rich,  pampered  and 
unrestrained,  with  every  whim  granted  and  every  ap¬ 
petite  served,  must  be  indeed  of  a  sturdy  mind  and 
morally  well-favoured  to  survive  their  temptations. 

Daniel  the  Hebrew  was  rich  in  his  physical  inherit¬ 
ance,  but  he  had  a  richer  soul,  and,  when  in  his  early 
youth  temporal  holdings  were  swept  away  and  he  was 
set  down  in  the  centre  of  a  drunken  court,  he  could 
not  be  spoiled.  It  is  hard  to  withstand  hatreds,  but  it 
is  even  more  difficult  to  survive  some  friendships.  This 
lad  who  held  fast  the  faith,  who  could  not  be  over¬ 
whelmed  by  either  adversity  or  success,  failed  not,  be¬ 
cause  “he  purposed  in  his  heart,”  and  trusted  in  his 
God.  Every  life  is  determined  by  its  purposes.  Daniel 
purposed  that  he  would  not  defile  himself,  and  his 
character  shines  on  the  page  of  history  as  a  white  light. 
Because  he  had  “purposed,”  he  refused  the  king’s 
meat  and  drink;  because  he  had  “purposed,”  he  would 
not  bow  down  to  an  idol,  but  would  pray  with  win¬ 
dows  open  toward  far-away,  humbled  Jerusalem;  be¬ 
cause  he  had  “purposed,”  the  lion’s  den  could  not  turn 
him  back;  and,  faithful  to  the  truth,  he  translated 
dreams  that  announced  ruin  to  his  benefactors  when 
silence  must  have  seemed  to  be  for  himself  the  surer 
safety.  Because  Daniel  “purposed,”  he  made  his  body 
strong  to  live  a  hundred  years,  his  mind  alert  to  com¬ 
prehend  all  learning,  and  his  soul  a  fit  place  for  God 
to  conceive  and  bring  forth  mighty  prophecies. 

Daniel’s  purpose  against  defilement  slew  lustful  ap¬ 
petite,  destroyed  selfish  fear  and  unworthy  ambition. 
It  gave  to  his  life  a  fixed  goal  and  high  objective.  It 
drew  him  inexorably  on  so  that  he  stopped  nowhere; 
He  tarried  not  with  Hebuchadnezzar,  with  Belshazzar, 


98 


What  Men  Need  Most 


with  Darius,  with  Cyrus,  though  he  served  them  all 
faithfully  and  well.  He  was  ever  moving  toward  the 
fulness  of  the  will  of  Jehovah,  and  he  belonged  to  no 
earthly  king;  he  was  the  property  of  God. 

We  will  not  deceive  ourselves;  standing  alone  Daniel 
was  as  helpless  as  any  man  of  us,  but  he  never  stood 
alone.  He  practised  perfectly  the  constant  presence 
of  his  heavenly  Father.  His  faith  was  magnificent  in 
its  simplicity  and  its  promptness.  There  is  no  indi¬ 
cation  in  the  record  that  he  hesitated  a  single  instant 
about  entering  his  room  for  his  accustomed  devotions 
after  the  establishing  of  the  imperial  decree  against 
any  other  worship  than  that  offered  to  the  king.  He 
did  not  move  an  eyelash  to  question  the  order  that 
came  as  the  result  of  his  obedience  to  God  rather  than 
to  men,  and  which  cast  him  to  the  man-eating  lions. 
Daniel  knew  “whom  he  had  believed/7  and  was 
“fully  persuaded.77  He  saw  through  because  he  lived 
through ;  because  his  spiritual  dwelling  place  was 
established  far  beyond  the  black  darkness  of  the  evil 
times  in  which  he  had  his  physical  existence.  His 
gaze  pierced  the  mysteries  of  a  monarch’s  nightmares; 
his  vision  swept  beyond  the  cloud-hung  mountains  of 
the  old  dispensation  to  the  glorified  slopes  of  the  new, 
because  the  real  house  of  his  habitation  was  not  made 
with  hands,  and  was  not  set  down  in  the  heathen  city 
of  his  captivity. 

“Faith  is  the  victory  that  overcomes  the  world,77  and 
to-day,  as  in  the  days  of  Daniel,  this  faith  in  the  living 
and  one  God  is  translating  dreams  into  realities.  It 
is  helping  to  keep  men  and  women  erect  in  the  cur¬ 
rents  of  passion  and  greed  that  swirl  about  them.  It 
is  refusing  the  command  of  an  age  that  bows  lower 
before  gold  than  the  Chaldeans  bowed  before  the  great 


Daniel,  the  Hebrew  Who  Purposed  99 

image.  It  is  addressing  the  growing  programme  of 
social  justice  in  the  terms  of  Jesus.  It  is  saving  the 
heathen  cities  of  civilisation  from  themselves,  with 
social  settlements,  night-schools,  and  play-grounds, 
with  child-betterment  legislation  and  pure-food  laws. 
It  is  this  faith,  this  Daniel  faith,  that  is  evangelising 
the  world;  and  this  same  faith  will  end  war,  and 
bring  out  of  the  chaos  of  it  a  new  order  of  brother¬ 
hood  the  like  of  which  no  sun  has  ever  shone  upon. 
Do  we  hear  the  challenge  of  “our”  faith?  What 
boots  it,  then,  where  we  live,  how  we  feel,  what  we 
suffer,  when  we  die?  The  same  unfailing  resource  of 
power  that  Daniel  drew  upon  is  our  supply  to-day. 

The  courage  of  Daniel  has  always  inspired  me.  In 
a  great  book  at  home,  as  a  lad,  I  first  saw  a  copy  of 
the  famous  picture  of  the  Hebrew  prophet  with  hands 
bound  in  front  of  him,  standing  erect  before  the  cow¬ 
ering  lions.  From  that  first  hour  when  he  dared  argue 
with  the  director  of  the  king’s  dining-room  to  the  late 
afternoon  when  tradition  says  that  his  eyes  beheld 
again  his  beloved  Jerusalem  and  rested  for  the  last 
time  upon  its  rebuilt  walls,  Daniel  was  daily  facing 
lions,  and  daily  taming  them.  His  physical  courage 
was  unsurpassed.  He  was  a  virile,  manly  man.  His 
moral  courage  in  its  supreme  moments,  in  all  the  re¬ 
corded  profane  and  sacred  history  of  the  world,  no 
man  has  ever  surpassed;  perhaps  one  man,  Joseph, 
equalled  it. 

The  secret  of  Daniel’s  courage  was  hid  in  what  he 
believed.  A  doubter  is  never  a  brave  man,  and 
courage  depends  very  much  upon  the  elements  of  a 
man’s  faith. 

I  have  read  somewhere  of  a  pygmy  African  tribe 
whose  medicine-men  teach  that  there  is  nothing  after 


100 


What  Men  Need  Most 


death;  that  the  grave  ends  all.  As  the  result  of  this 
teaching,  the  tribe  gives  all  of  its  energies  to  the  sus¬ 
taining  of  physical  life,  to  the  satisfying  of  bestial  pas¬ 
sion.  It  has  gone  to  the  most  remote  places  of  interior 
jungles  to  escape  conflicts  with  neighbouring  tribes, 
and  it  has  developed  great  cunning  in  ensnaring  and 
crippling  wild  animals  without  danger  to  its  hunters. 
Its  women  are  cruel,  and  its  men  are  cowards.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  Japanese  soldiers  are  the  most  invin¬ 
cible,  because  physical  life  to  the  Japanese  is  abso¬ 
lutely  as  nothing  when  compared  with  the  honour  and 
pleasure  that  are  in  the  next  world  as  immediate  re¬ 
wards  for  dying  in  battle  for  the  emperor. 

Daniel  knew  that  he  was  not  accountable  to  earthly 
kings,  but  to  the  King  of  all  kings.  He  knew  that  his 
body  was  simply  the  house  of  his  spirit;  he  was  con¬ 
cerned  to  keep  it  clean;  but,  when  wild  beasts  threat¬ 
ened  it,  he  was  not  disturbed;  for  he  knew  that  their 
fangs  could  not  tear  his  immortal  soul. 

The  perspective  of  Danieks  life  was  spiritual. 
Therefore,  while  he  was  eminently  practical,  and 
found  favour  with  his  captors  because  of  what  he 
knew  and  did,  not  once  did  he  make  the  mistake  of 
putting  temporal  and  minor  things  first.  Whenever 
the  issue  was  drawn,  he  always  decided  without  hesi¬ 
tation  for  the  things  that  are  eternal. 

The  statement,  “It  does  not  make  any  difference 
what  a  man  believes  so  long  as  he  lives  right,”  is  a 
great  fallacy.  Ho  man  does  live  right  who  grovels  in 
his  mind,  who  goes  through  life  without  any  deep-set 
convictions.  “As  a  man  thinketh  in  his  heart,  so  is 
he.”  A  coward  is  the  child  of  doubt. 

Daniel  is  the  world’s  towering  human  example  of 
the  power  of  a  fixed  character.  Living  through  three 


Daniel,  the  Hebrew  Who  Purposed  101 

heathen  dynasties  and  under  four  kings,  he  was  coun¬ 
sellor,  confidant,  and  prime  minister  to  them  all, 
though  they  held  him  nominally  a  captive.  But  at 
no  time  in  his  long  life  did  he  sacrifice  a  single  prin¬ 
ciple  of  his  religion  or  swerve  a  hair’s  breadth  from 
his  spiritual  purpose.  He  was  implicitly  trusted,  and 
his  personality  caused  him  to  be  greatly  loved.  We 
find  no  record  that  he  was  ever  doubted  by  God  or 
man.  A  life  that  changes  its  fundamentals  easily, 
that  vacillates  morally,  that  has  no  fixed  course,  could 
not  have  survived  the  disasters  that  overtook  the  vain¬ 
glorious  Xebuchadnezzar,  the  drunken  Belshazzar,  and 
the  martial  Darius.  Daniel  survived  the  rulers  who 
successively  honoured  him,  and  was  left  undisturbed 
in  his  high  estate  while  his  temporal  benefactors  were 
utterly  destroyed,  because  his  reliability  and  great 
moral  worth,  coupled  with  his  profound  wisdom,  made 
him  an  indispensable  asset  to  a  new  king. 

“The  tumult  and  the  shouting  dies, 

The  captains  and  the  kings  depart” — 

but  some  values  never  change.  If  there  have  been  a 
few  men  without  whom  the  world  would  have  failed 
and  in  whom  God  was  supremely  honoured,  Daniel 
was  one  of  those  men.  In  only  one  other  personality 
of  history  have  body,  mind  and  spirit  been  so  har- 
moniouslv  svnchronised  into  a  svmmetrical  whole. 

t J  V 

Jesus  alone  “of  all  the  sons  of  woman  born”  trans¬ 
cends  in  completeness  of  character,  diversity  of  serv¬ 
ice,  and  supernatural  authority,  this  purposeful  He¬ 
brew,  Daniel,  the  “divine  judge.” 


10 


EXTREMITY  AND  OPPORTUNITY 

Text :  St.  Matthew  26 :  45.  “The  hour  is  at 
hand ” 

Jesus  had  come  to  His  hour.  He  was  the  central 
figure  in  the  supreme  paradox  of  time.  He  was  help¬ 
less  and  He  was  all-sufficient;  He  was  defeated  and 
He  was  triumphant;  He  was  on  the  road  of  humilia¬ 
tion,  facing  Calvary  and  His  feet  had  begun  to  press  the 
glory  that  led  to  His  coronation;  He  was  at  the  ex¬ 
tremity  of  His  humanity  and  about  to  accept  the  op¬ 
portunity  of  His  divinity.  As  a  teacher  He  was  the 
rejected;  as  king  of  the  Jews  He  was  the  denied,  but 
as  Saviour  of  the  world  He  was  settling  into  His 
throne. 

To-day  man  is  in  the  hour  of  his  extremity.  It  is  the 
hour  of  suspicion.  We  feel  suspicious  of  one  another; 
we  feel  suspicious  of  ourselves.  Nations  put  their 
trust  in  doubts  again,  and  a  world  that  had  begun  to 
vision  the  era  of  good  feeling,  for  which  it  had  paid 
dearly  enough,  hears  once  more  the  ancient  hammers 
of  discord  clanging  upon  anvils  of  envy  and  greed. 

It  is  the  hour  of  broken  vows.  We  promised  our¬ 
selves,  we  promised  one  another,  we  promised  God. 
All  of  our  treasure  had  been  brought  forward.  In 
limb  and  life  and  liberties,  in  blood  and  bonds,  in  body 
and  in  soul,  we  pledged  ourselves  to  build  the  new 

world.  Nothing  that  we  could  lay  upon  the  sacrificial 

102 


Extremity  and  Opportunity  103 

altar  was  dear  enough  to  he  withheld,  and  so  supremely 
epic  was  the  need  that  small  gifts  came  to  have  colossal 
value. 

Disaster  stalked  our  institutions;  our  lines  were 
bending  behind  Att.  Kemmel;  armies  had  been  swal¬ 
lowed  up;  morale  was  a  tottering  wall,  a  crumbling 
tower;  we  were  a  sober,  a  repentant  people;  we  made 
our  covenant  with  God. 

As  nations  we  made  it.  We  said,  “Never  again  will 
we  build  a  peace  upon  armaments  and  fleets;  the  rec¬ 
ognition  of  the  will  to  conquer,  the  strength  to  take 
and  hold.  We  will  perish  in  these  bloody  fields;  we 
and  all  of  ours  will  leap  to  greet  the  bitter  death ;  but 
dying  we  will  pay  the  price  of  the  better  part,  and 
our  children’s  children  shall  at  last  be  free.” 

As  churches  we  made  it.  The  cloaks  for  selfishness 
and  pride  slipped  from  us  as  garments  outgrown.  We 
talked  little  of  denominational  programmes  as  such. 
We  emphasised  the  larger  things  that  as  Christians  we 
possess  in  common.  We  spoke  as  prophets  of  the  brave 
days  to  come  when  all  should  toil  together.  We  heeded 
voices  that  called  us  into  conference,  and  the  dreams 
of  a  united  Protestantism  began  to  take  form. 

As  individuals  we  made  it.  We  promised  God;  we, 
who  in  peaceful  years  had  been  able  to  deceive  the 
world  or  brazenlv  to  flaunt  it,  could  not  in  those  naked 
hours  find  a  covering  for  smallness.  We  grew  in 
spiritual  stature,  and  became  men  and  women  for  the 
times. 

Now  the  enemy  has  withdrawn;  and  as,  when 
Nebuchadnezzar  turned  away  from  the  walls  of  Jeru¬ 
salem  to  meet  the  Egyptians  coming  out  of  the  south, 
Israel  bound  again  the  slave  she  had  in  the  penitence 
of  her  adversity  set  free,  so  we  even  now  are  reaching 


104 


What  Men  Need  Most 


for  the  renounced  weapons  of  our  political  partisan¬ 
ship,  the  discarded  vices  of  our  ecclesiastical  divisions, 
the  sins  confessed,  and  the  flesh-pots  of  our  unregen¬ 
erated  hearts.  Are  we  to  lose  the  spiritual  values 
established  by  the  World  War?  God  forbid  that  we 
should,  and  God  pity  us  if  we  do ;  for,  if  we  lose  them, 
we  have  lost  the  war. 

It  is  the  hour  of  unrest.  ISTo  man  is  satisfied. 
Labour  strikes, — strikes  in  spite  of  contracts  and 
against  the  orders  of  leaders;  capital  profiteers;  to 
those  who  would  appraise  the  times  a  wild  array  of 
charges  and  countercharges  present  themselves.  A 
thousand  social  physicians  shout  their  panaceas.  Noth¬ 
ing  is  stable.  In  politics  party  lines  are  not  only 
obliterated,  but  traditional  policies  are  repudiated 
with  all  the  unconcern  of  a  thoughtless  guest  who 
ignores  a  dinner  engagement.  In  the  church  we  are 
violently  mystical,  or  we  spend  passionless  days  in 
WTriting  social-service  creeds,  or  we  wander  listlessly 
over  the  paths  between.  Our  patriotism  is  a  coat  of 
many  colours;  it  has  the  red  of  anarchy  to  comfort 
the  bomb-thrower,  and  from  its  sinister  black  we  make 
a  gag  for  freedom.  Economically  we  are  at  two  ex¬ 
tremes;  at  the  one  we  cry:  “Eow  we  will  throw  off 
the  restraints  imposed  by  the  war;  we  will  repudiate 
the  agreements  and  compacts  made  between  labour 
and  capital  when  the  terror  of  impending  defeat 
forced  us  to  the  conference  table.  Again  it  shall  be 
master  and  man.”  At  the  other  extreme  we  shout, 
“The  millennium  has  come  to  Russia.  Let  us  enter  in.” 

It  is  the  hour  of  suffering.  The  world  is  a  vast 
house  of  sickness.  Mr.  Hoover  has  said,  that  in  a 
single  year  fifteen  millions  of  people  face  starvation. 
John  R.  Mott  has  declared  that  more  children,  women, 


Extremity  and  Opportunity  105 

and  men  have  died  as  the  direct  results  of  the  war, 
since  the  Armistice,  than  were  slain  during  all  the 
years  of  the  bloody  struggle. 

What  shall  we  do  ?  What  can  we  do  ?  Let  no  man 
say  that  the  evil  in  man  now  has  the  undisputed  right 
of  way.  By  the  side  of  the  pictures  of  promises 
broken  and  selfishness  returning  to  its  own,  hang  those 
of  the  purpose  to  be  true,  in  the  faces  of  men  and 
women  who  have  not  ceased  to  pour  themselves  out  in 
benefactions  for  mankind.  In  these  is  the  hope  of  the 
race;  with  them  lies  our  promise  for  the  better  to¬ 
morrow. 

But  what  of  this  hour,  the  hour  of  suspicion,  and 
broken  vows,  of  unrest  and  suffering  and  need  ?  It  is 
the  hour  of  man’s  extremity;  the  plans  of  man  have 
broken  down,  for  man  himself  has  failed.  He  used 
the  weapons  that  he  knew,  and  they  have  buckled  in 
his  hand.  It  is  the  hour  of  man’s  extremity,  but  the 
hour  of  man’s  extremity  is  God’s  opportunity. 

In  September,  1915,  a  young  Scotchman,  a  lieu¬ 
tenant,  only  a  few  days  before  he  died,  while  gallantly 
leading  his  men  in  a  charge,  wrote  to  his  mother, 
describing  the  fearful  nature  of  the  conflict,  his  grow¬ 
ing  appreciation  of  the  issues  involved,  his  great  fear 
that  the  super-preparations  of  the  enemy  would  compel 
an  early  conclusion  of  the  war  with  disaster  to  the 
Allies.  In  one  yivid  paragraph  he  spoke  of  the  in¬ 
adequacy  of  eyerything  his  eyes  had  seen  or  his  mind 
conjured,  and  concluded  with  the  words:  “Mother, 
God  must  be.”  To-day  we  are  face  to  face  with  ex¬ 
tremity’s  conclusion,  which  is  extremity’s  compulsion. 
“God  must  be” 

Whateyer  my  definition  of  God  may  be,  however  I 
may  describe  and  declare  Him,  if  I  am  an  intelligent 


106 


What  Men  Need  Most 


creature,  a  mind  released  to  think,  then  I  am  bound 
to  accept  the  fact  of  God,  for  God  must  be.  No  other 
hand  than  His  has  laid  the  paths  of  planets  and  filled 
space  with  universes ;  has  made  the  sun  and  moon  and 
stars,  the  earth  and  sky  and  sea  and  all  that  dwell 
therein.  No  other  will  than  His  has  brought  all  things 
together.  No  other  mind  than  His  can  shape  the 
answers  to  these  questions.  No  other  love  than  His 
can  heal  these  wounds,  allay  these  suspicions,  quench 
these  thirsts,  comfort  these  sorrows,  forgive  these  sins, 
raise  these  dead.  God  must  be. 

Who  is  God  ?  How  shall  we  find  God  ?  There  are 
a  thousand  answers  to  the  question,  “Who  is  God?” 
and  no  one  of  them,  nor  all  of  them  together,  answer. 
It  is  impossible  for  a  man  to  comprehend  God,  Our 
approach  to  Him  now  is  as  awesome  as  it  was  in  the 
days  of  the  exodus,  as  impossible  as  when  Moses  heard 
His  voice  from  the  burning  bush. 

But  what  of  the  second  question?  Ah,  that  is  dif¬ 
ferent;  for  we  have  a  mediator,  one  who  stands  be¬ 
tween,  and  to  the  question,  “How  shall  we  find  God?” 
the  testimony  of  the  ages,  the  sum  of  all  Christian 
experience,  replies,  “We  find  God  in  Jesus  Christ  His 
Son,  our  Lord  and  Saviour.”  And  does  not  the  simple 
necessity  of  the  occasion,  freed  of  all  dogma,  stripped 
of  every  creedal  statement,  demand  that  this  Jesus, 
through  whom  and  in  whom  alone  we  find  God,  God 
the  omniscient  and  omnipotent, — that  this  same  Jesus 
must  be  omniscient  and  omnipotent  too  ?  that  He  must 
Himself  be  very  God? 

Now  our  path  becomes  clear,  for  Christ  has  blazed 
it  through  the  wilderness  of  human  doubt,  lifted  it 
high  above  the  tides  of  human  folly;  and  He  Himself 
has  walked  upon  it.  Stumbling  blindly  about,  over- 


Extremity  and  Opportunity  107 

whelmed  by  insupportable  odds,  in  our  last  extremity 
we  find  “the  way.”  He  was  called  the  Galilean,  and 
a  Hazarene.  He  is  Jesus.  And  when  we  find  Jesus 
we  find  the  answer  to  our  question,  the  solution  of  our 
problem,  the  reason  for  our  existence,  comfort  for  our 
sorrow,  healing  for  our  sickness,  forgiveness  for  our 
sin,  and  resurrection  for  our  dead,  for  in  finding  Jesus 
we  have  found  God. 

Who  is  Jesus?  Let  Him  answer:  “I  am  the  way, 
the  truth,  and  the  life.”  He  is  speaking  for  all  the 
times  and  circumstances  of  man.  Is  this  the  hour  of 
suspicion,  of  broken  vows,  of  unrest,  of  suffering  and 
needs  ?  Is  this  the  black  hour  of  man’s  extremity  ? 
Then  Jesus  cries,  “I  am  the  way,  the  truth,  and  the 
life.”  “Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labour  and  are 
heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.”  “Cast  your 
burdens  upon  me,  and  ye  shall  find  rest  for  your 
souls.” 

This  is  the  invitation,  the  invitation  all-inclusive 
and  all-satisfying.  But  it  has  an  alternative.  Above 
the  scarred  and  suffering  world,  the  empty  ruins  of  its 
cities  of  pride  and  the  heaps  of  its  dead,  He  flings  His 
words  in  crimson  letters  against  a  flaming  sky,  “With¬ 
out  me  ye  can  do  nothing.”  He  alone  can  beat  swords 
into  ploughshares,  equalise  social  inequalities,  destroy 
racial  hates,  bring  the  world  back  from  its  lust  of 
blood  to  that  respect  for  law  and  order  without  which 
no  freedom  is  secure.  Christ  alone  can  effectuate  the 
parliament  of  nations;  bring  to  pass  the  federation  of 
the  world,  and  perfect  peace. 

Where  is  Jesus?  Let  Him  answer  again:  “I  am 
with  you  alway,”  and  “even  unto  the  end  of  the 
world.”  He  was  speaking  to  His  disciples,  and  thus 
He  addresses  His  disciples  to-day.  And,  as  those  first 


108 


What  Men  Need  Most 


faithful  eleven  were  charged  with  responsibility  for 
the  message  of  Christ’s  kingdom  in  their  time,  so  are 
we  who  are  called  Christians  charged  with  the  message 
in  this  fateful  hour. 

His  physical  feet  no  longer  press  the  path  that  winds 
between  Bethany  and  Jerusalem;  we  must  be  His  feet. 
His  physical  eyes  no  longer  rest  upon  the  walls  of 
Jerusalem;  we  must  be  His  eyes.  His  physical  voice 
no  longer  cries,  “Come  unto  me”;  we  must  be  His 
voice.  If  Christ  has  a  physical  presence  to-day,  He 
has  it  through  us.  He  stands  or  falls  as  His  disciples, 
as  Christians,  as  we,  are  true  or  false.  And  by  the 
law  of  first  things,  by  the  call  of  the  needs  of  dying 
men,  by  the  claims  of  time  and  of  eternity,  our  su¬ 
preme  business  is  the  discovering  of  Jesus  Christ  to 
the  groping  lost  world. 

But  the  message  of  this  hour  will  have  very  largely 
failed  if  it  does  not  finally  become  even  more  per¬ 
sonal.  We  have  said  that  Christ  is  dependent  upon 
His  disciples,  that  He  functions  through  men  and 
women.  How  vastly  important,  then,  is  the  task  of 
those  who  would  see  men  and  women  “Christ-like.” 
Only  as  we  are  spiritually  equipped  can  we  perform 
our  ministry  as  the  representatives  of  the  Lord  and 
Saviour  of  mankind. 

We  are  discussing  the  new  world,  the  world  that  is 
to  be,  the  new  world  that  shall  rise  from  the  ashes  of 
the  old ;  but  there  can  be  no  new  world  without  new 
world-builders,  and  how  shall  a  man  become  new? 
The  answer  to  that  question  is  in  the  voice  of  the  ages, 
“Ye  must  be  born  again.”  We  are  “new  creatures” 
in  Christ  Jesus,  or  we  are  yet  dead  in  our  trespasses 
and  sins.  Let  there  be  no  misunderstanding  here ;  not 
by  the  gifts  of  our  opulence,  not  by  the  deeds  of  our 


Extremity  and  Opportunity  109 

vanity,  not  by  self-inflicted  penalties,  not  by  high 
honours,  nor  by  fine  speech,  do  we  fit  ourselves  to  be 
the  spiritual  torch-bearers  of  the  new  era. 

“What  can  wash  away  my  sin  ? 

Nothing  but  the  blood  of  Jesus. 

What  can  make  me  whole  again? 

Nothing  but  the  blood  of  Jesus. 

Oh,  precious  is  the  flow 
That  makes  me  white  as  snow; 

Ho  other  fount  I  know, 

Nothing  but  the  blood  of  Jesus.” 

Approaching  the  present  crisis  in  man  and  in  man’s 
world  from  any  direction,  considering  him  and  his 
from  all  angles,  we  arrive  at  the  same  conclusion ;  as 
individuals,  and  as  individuals  brought  together  in 
society,  we  need  first  of  all,  we  need  above  all  and 
always,  Jesus  Christ — His  forgiveness,  His  salvation, 
His  praise,  His  power,  His  passion.  We  need  Jesus, 
Jesus  Himself;  for  Christ  in  us  is  our  “hope  of  glory,” 
and  our  grace  to  conquer.  Without  Him  we  are  lost. 

Then  let  the  church  give  herself  anew  and  fully  to 
her  supreme,  her  unique  task.  With  the  abandon  of 
the  disciples  who  burned  with  the  flame  kindled  by 
the  fiery  tongues  of  the  first  Pentecost  let  her  cry, 
“One  thing  I  do.”  She  will  release  her  omnipotent 
energies  only  by  proclaiming  “Christ  and  Him  cruci¬ 
fied.” 

Raise  the  cross!  Point  to  the  blood!  Preach  the 
word;  for  “I,  if  I  be  lifted  up  from  the  earth,  will 
draw , — will  draw — I  will  draw  all  men  unto  me.” 

I  come  to  you  with  this  message  and  with  no  other, 
not  alone  because  the  very  atmosphere  of  the  times  is 
charged  with  it.  I  come  to  you  with  this  message  be- 


110 


What  Men  Need  Most 


cause  it  is  the  only  message  that  I  know  in  which  are 
hope  and  life.  It  is  the  message  that  I  heard  first  in 
the  dear  days  when  I  buried  my  face  in  my  mother’s 
lap  and  lisped  the  prayers  of  my  childhood;  it  is  the 
message  that  my  father  preached  in  the  church  that 
his  own  hands  nailed  together,  and  now  I  tell  it  to 
my  children.  It  is  the  message  that  spoke  to  me  in 
college,  and  that  no  words  of  honest  doubt,  no  super¬ 
ficial  criticisms,  were  able  to  destroy.  I  have  listened 
to  it  beneath  the  low-bending  skies  of  the  desert  and 
in  the  solitary  places  of  the  mountains.  I  have  heard 
it  speak  in  the  storms  of  the  sea.  I  have  been  alone 
in  the  valley  of  the  shadow  with  my*  dead,  and  it  has 
comforted  me.  Once  when  the  earth  about  me  opened, 
and  geysers  of  molten  metal  poured  upward  through 
shattered  trees  and  heaving  fields,  while  walls  -crum¬ 
bled  and  the  sky  was  filled  with  the  missiles  of  man’s 
hell,  when  the  breath  of  death  came  out  of  the  night 
and  smothered  me,  I  heard  its  voice;  and  pain  and 
terror  passed  from  me  when  he  said,  “Fear  not;  I  am 
with  thee.”  It  is  the  message  that  to  this  hour  has 
followed  me  all  the  days  of  my  life;  it  is  the  only 
adequate  message  for  a  world  sick  unto  death. 


11 

CONQUERORS  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE 

Text:  Philippiaxs  4:13.  “I  can  do  all 
things  through  Christ  which  strengtheneth 
me. 

“Resolved :  That  circumstances  make  the  man  rather 
than  that  man  makes  his  circumstances/7  was  the  sub¬ 
ject  of  the  first  debate  the  writer  participated  in.  He 
spoke  in  favour  of  the  negative,  and  still  finds  himself 
on  the  same  side  of  the  proposition. 

Scientists  point  to  both  animals  and  plants  that  have 
gradually  become  extinct  as  the  result  of  climatie 
changes.  They  tell  us  of  races  of  men  that  have  dis¬ 
appeared  from  the  face  of  the  earth  as  the  result  of 
their  inability  to  adapt  themselves  to  new  physical 
environments.  Many  of  you  have  seen  the  sightless 
fish  of  the  Mammoth  Cave,  creatures  of  environment. 
In  one  of  the  issues  of  The  National  Geographic 
Magazine  appeared  a  very  interesting  story  of  the 
game  territory  of  the  Lake  Superior  region.  It  is 
quite  remarkable  how  with  the  cutting  away  of  the 
great  trees  and  the  springing  up  of  smaller  trees, 
underbrush,  berry-bearing  vines,  and  nut-growing 
bushes  that  could  not  flourish  in  the  dense  shade  of 
the  heavy  timber,  animal  life  has  increased  in  that 
region  until  to-day  more  deer,  moose,  bear,  and  other 
wild  animals  are  said  to  be  there  than  there  were  a 
hundred  years  ago.  Are  they  not,  very  largely,  at 

least,  creatures  of  circumstance  ? 

ill 


112 


What  Men  Need  Most 


Certainly  we  must  consider  the  far-reaching  influ¬ 
ence  of  environment  upon  all  life.  The  inhabitants 
of  Africa  are  increasingly  dark  as  they  approach  the 
equator,  and  as  their  habits  of  life  leave  them  to  a 
greater  extent  exposed  to  the  direct  rays  of  the  sun. 
The  trees  of  our  Southwest,  beginning  with  the  sage¬ 
brush  of  the  lower  altitudes  and  up  to  six  thousand 
feet,  blend  first  into  the  dwarfed  desert  cedar,  then 
into  the  more  symmetrical  and  slightly  taller  pinon, 
and  finally  reach  their  full  glory,  at  an  altitude  of 
from  eight  to  nine  thousand  feet,  in  the  white  pines 
of  the  San  Francisco  and  White  Mountains.  These 
trees  are  certainly  the  children  of  the  climate  and 
environment  in  which  they  live. 

Recently  a  young  man  was  electrocuted  in  New 
York,  who  began  his  career  of  evil-doing  at  the  age  of 
nine.  When  he  was  destroyed  by  the  execution  of  the 
law,  he  had  been  twice  a  murderer,  had  committed 
other  crimes  too  numerous  to  mention,  and  was  less 
than  twenty-one.  He  was  conceived  and  born  in  sin, 
and  reared  in  exceptionally  vile  surroundings.  A 
leader  of  public  thought,  referring  to  the  case,  spoke 
of  this  youth  “as  the  inevitable  growth  of  a  degenerate 
social  soil.” 

How  often  great  plans  have  failed  because  of  cir¬ 
cumstances  quite  beyond  the  control  of  those  who  made 
the  plans!  The  sunken  road  at  Waterloo  may  havq 
overthrown  the  incomparable  military  genius  of  Na¬ 
poleon  and  dictated  European  history  for  a  hundred 
years. 

Yes,  we  must  concede  the  mighty  influence  of  en¬ 
vironment  upon  men  and  upon  events.  But  circum¬ 
stance,  environment,  the  characteristics  of  the  external 
world — these  are  not  the  main  factors.  Another  scien- 


Conquerors  of  Circumstance  113 

tist,  Dr.  Thomson,  says  that  “in  higher  plants  as  well 
as  in  higher  animals,  there  seems  to  he  greater  free¬ 
dom  from  the  direct  grip  of  environment.”  And  Dr. 
Watkinson  declares,  “All  history  is  the  record  of  the 
revolt  of  the  spirit  against  the  rule  of  circumstance, 
and  of  the  victories  of  the  human  will  in  life’s  gigantic 
struggle.”  In  this  fact,  in  the  colossal  and  continuing 
warfare  of  the  human  soul,  is  the  fascination  of  his¬ 
tory. 

Upon  Alpine  heights  fighting  the  icy  blasts  and 
choking  snow  are  some  of  earth’s  most  refined  and 
exquisite  blossoms.  In  the  deep  sea  are  fish  physically 
helpless  against  their  voracious  foes,  but  able  to  hide 
themselves  against  the  colouring  of  the  ocean’s  floor. 
Camels  are  prepared  for  their  long  journeys  through 
burning  desert  sands  by  nature’s  cushioning  on  their 
feet  and  a  natural  water-reservoir. 

And  what  of  man?  Have  nature  and  nature’s  God 
been  less  prodigal  with  him,  and  is  he  less  resourceful, 
less  competent,  than  the  flowers  of  the  field  and  the 
beasts  of  the  forest  ?  What  of  man  ?  Is  he  a  creature 
of  circumstance,  held  by  chains  of  environment,  sub¬ 
ject  entirely  to  external  forces  and  conditions?  Jesus 
loved  the  flowers  that  smiled  up  at  Him  as  He  walked ; 
and  He  lingered  long,  I  am  sure,  in  grassy  glades  and 
by  purling  streams.  But  it  was  not  over  a  field  of 
daisies  nor  a  rippling  lake  that  He  wept;  it  was  over 
Jerusalem,  the  city.  Hot  over  its  stones  and  walks 
and  towers,  but  over  its  women  and  children  and  men. 
Humanity  was  His  concern,  the  salvation  of  the  people 
was  His  mission  and  His  passion. 

What,  then,  is  the  attitude  of  Jesus  toward  man? 
How  does  He  look  upon  circumstance  and  environ¬ 
ment  ?  The  Hew  Testament  shows  little  respect  for 


114 


What  Men  Need  Most 


position,  for  prestige  and  power,  as  such.  The  weak, 
the  poor,  the  humble,  are  invited  to  inherit  the  earth. 
The  overcomers,  the  conquerors  of  circumstance,  are 
exalted.  Jesus,  in  selecting  His  disciples,  went  among 
the  lowly,  to  fishermen  instead  of  to  financiers.  The 
men  with  whom  He  left  the  interests  of  His  kingdom, 
to  whom  He  gave  the  stewardship  of  His  cause,  were 
men  despised  and  rejected  as  was  their  Lord. 

The  lowly  Hazarene,  and  not  the  haughty  Pharisee; 
the  Bethlehem  manger  Babe,  and  not  a  child  from 
Herod’s  palace;  the  Galilean  peasant,  and  not  a  noble¬ 
man  of  Capernaum;  a  simple  speaker  of  the  truth, 
unordained;  a  quiet-voiced  companion  and  healer  of 
men,  not  the  high  priest  nor  the  praetor  of  Borne,  was 
this  wonder-working  Christ  who  rose  from  shame  to 
glory,  from  the  cross  to  the  crown,  from  the  manger 
to  the  throne,  from  the  stripes  of  the  soldiers  and  the 
spittle  of  the  rabble  to  the  hosannas  of  angels  and  the 
right  hand  of  God. 

And  every  new  crusade,  every  unacclaimed  reform 
that  has  come  at  last  to  popular  approval,  has  found 
its  first  supporters  and  leaders,  not  among  earth’s 
recognised  great  men  and  women,  but  in  the  study  of 
a  Calvin,  or  in  the  shop  of  a  Socrates,  or  where  some 
village  Hampden  plies  his  trade.  I  do  not  remember 
now  a  single  character  who  stands  in  history  like  a 
sun  among  falling  stars,  who  was  not  a  conqueror  of 
circumstance,  who  did  not  rise  in  spite  of  surround¬ 
ings,  who  was  not  the  master  of  his  environment. 

Paul,  whose  journeys  for  the  time  in  which  he  lived 
and  the  means  of  transportation  at  his  disposal,  were 
the  most  adventurous  of  history  as  well  as  the  most 
far-reaching  missionary  tours  of  his  age;  Paul,  whose 
Christian  ministry  stands  for  all  time  as  second  only 


Conquerors  of  Circumstance  115 

to  that  of  Jesus,  held  the  word  of  the  law  and  broke 
the  bread  of  life  with  fingers  already  callous  from  the 
needle  and  cord  of  a  tentmaker.  Every  mile  he  trav¬ 
elled  was  a  thrust  of  torture  to  his  pain-racked  body, 
and  he  was  the  mightiest  orator  of  the  early  church 
in  spite  of  his  insignificant  presence. 

The  hand  that  wrote  some  of  Walter  Scott’s  rarest 
passages  was  the  hand  of  a  man  suffering  unutterable 
physical  torture. 

Milton,  who  looked  into  the  future  far  enough  to 
see,  and  clearly  enough  to  portray,  paradise,  was  blind. 

George  Washington,  in  spite  of  wealth  and  family 
distinction,  espoused  the  cause  of  a  humble  people,  cast 
his  lot  with  a  revolution  whose  failure  seemed  inevi¬ 
table  and  whose  failure  meant  the  confiscation  of 
property  and  the  loss  of  life.  Hot  all  conquerors  of 
circumstance  are  poor,  nor  are  all  unknown.  Other 
things  being  equal,  undoubtedly  it  is  harder  for  a  man 
of  position  or  a  woman  of  standing  to  follow  principle 
in  the  espousing  of  an  unpopular  cause,  than  it  is  for 
a  person  who  has  nothing  in  the  way  of  temporal  value 
to  lose. 

In  1904  J.  Erank  Hanly  was  elected  governor  of 
Indiana  by  the  largest  majority  ever  received  for  the 
gubernatorial  office  in  that  State.  ITe  was  the  leader 
of  his  party,  and  the  popular  idol  of  his  common¬ 
wealth.  Ho  office  within  the  gift  of  the  people  seemed 
beyond  his  reach.  During  the  first  year  of  his  term 
his  attention  was  drawn  to  the  saloon’s  violations  of 
the  law;  and  then,  as  he  attempted  to  enforce  the  sta¬ 
tutes  in  cities  where  municipal  authorities  were  de¬ 
linquent,  he  became  convinced  of  the  inherent  evils 
of  the  liquor  traffic  itself. 

He  came  eventually  to  believe  in  absolute  prohibi- 


116 


What  Men  Need  Most 


tion.  His  friends  in  dismay  sought  to  silence  his 
public  utterances.  They  made  a  determined  effort  to 
keep  his  new-found  convictions  out  of  his  official  life. 
Prohibition  was  most  unpopular  then,  even  in  the 
Middle  West.  Among  politicians  it  was  tabooed,  and 
no  man  with  serious  ambitions  made  the  “mistake”  of 
allowing  the  question  to  creep  into  his  platform.  Gov¬ 
ernor  Hanly  was  told,  and  without  the  mincing  of 
words,  that  if  he  had  any  idea  of  remaining  in  public 
life  in  Indiana,  if  he  hoped  ever  to  realise  for  himself 
the  yet  higher  ambitions  of  his  friends,  he  must  silence 
his  conscience  with  regard  to  prohibition. 

Some  of  us,  who  knew  and  loved  Governor  Hanly 
and  who  were  greatly  honoured!  by  having  his  affec¬ 
tion  and  confidence,  know  how  bitter,  how  heart¬ 
breaking,  the  struggle  became,  but  Governor  Hanly 
clid  not  falter.  He  remained  absolutely  loyal  to  his 
convictions,  and  with  flashing  eye  and  burning  elo¬ 
quence  proclaimed  them,  first  throughout  Indiana,  and 
then  through  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  continent. 
He  lost  the  United  States  senatorship,  and  perhaps  the 
chance  to  be  President  of  the  United  States,  for  some 
of  us  believe  that  no  man  since  Lincoln  has  been  in¬ 
herently  greater;  but  he  won  a  glorious  immortality. 
When  in  a  terrible  accident  his  life  was  suddenly  cut 
off,  he  had  seen  the  cause  for  which  he  had  made  su¬ 
preme  sacrifices,  and  to  which  he  had  brought  con¬ 
tributions  perhaps  greater  than  those  of  any  other  one 
man,  triumphant  at  the  polls  and  a  fact  in  government. 

But  how  utterly  impossible  it  is  to  call  the  long  roll ! 
The  Lincolns  and  Grants  who  came  from  log  cabins 
to  the  White  House;  the  Uapoleons  of  the  land,  the 
Nelsons  of  the  sea,  who  rose  from  obscurity  to  hold  the 
centre  of  the  world’s  stage  of  war;  the  poets  who  like 


Conquerors  of  Circumstance  117 

Burns  walked  in  poverty  while  they  sang  songs  for  the 
a<res ;  the  musicians  who  have  drawn  from  souls  but 
lightly  held  in  bodies  gaunt  from  hunger  the  sym¬ 
phonies  that  have  ravished  the  ears  of  mankind;  the 
Frances  Willards  and  the  Harriet  Beecher  Stowes,  the 
Clara  Bartons  and  the  Florence  Nightingales,  the 
mother  of  the  Gracchi  and  the  mothers  of  men  whose 
arms  were  empty  from  the  cradle  that  they  might  hold 
the  crying  children  of  the  world — these,  all  of  these, 
and  unnumbered  others  who  with  these  bore  the  cross, 
endured  the  shame,  survived  the  anguish,  and  took 
their  very  captivity  captive,  these  were  conquerors, 
conquerors  of  circumstance. 

But  the  rest  of  us  say,  “Ah,  yes,  so  they  were,  but 
what  of  us  V ’  These  were  remarkable  individuals, 
extraordinary  people.  To  them  surroundings  were 
never  more  than  the  incidental.  Favourable  circum¬ 
stances  or  unfavourable,  kindly  environment  or  un¬ 
friendly,  they  became  great  because  they  were  great, 
because  they  had  greatness  within  themselves. 

But  does  not  the  same  principle  apply  to  us  all  ?  or 
may  it  not  apply  to  us  all  ?  I  remember  a  one-armed 
lad  who  played  on  the  sand  lots  that  were  the  only 
athletic  field  of  our  neighbourhood.  He  set  himself 
with  unyielding  determination  to  be  a  football-player, 
and  became  one  of  the  greatest  linemen  of  his  college 
generation.  I  remember  a  chubby  fellow  with  the  most 
awkward  stride  and  gait  in  the  squad,  who  became  the 
fastest  middle-distance  runner  of  his  State.  At  For¬ 
tress  Alexandria  in  Coblenz,  just  after  the  armies  of 
occupation  reached  the  Rhine,  I  met  a  Christian  En¬ 
deavour  boy  from  San  Diego  who  was  an  observer  with 
the  91st  Air-Squadron,  and  who  was  wearing  the 
D.  S.  C.  The  examiners  turned  him  back  three  times 


118 


What  Men  Need  Most 


because  of  defective  eyesight.  He  reached  the  front 
under  a  mistake  in  orders,  received  his  chance  because 
of  a  series  of  disasters  that  left  a  division  suddenly 
without  support  in  the  air;  and  then  because  he  had 
never  given  up  the  idea  that  somehow,  sometime,  he 
would  be  needed,  and  had  prepared  himself  accord¬ 
ingly,  he  rendered  an  imperative  and  brilliant  service 
that  pinned  a  cross  upon  his  breast  and  kept  him  flying 
until  the  armistice  was  signed. 

A  few  weeks  ago  I  met  a  young  man  in  Arizona,  a 
“lunger,”  who  came  out  of  the  war  with  tuberculosis. 
[For  twelve  months  he  gasped  for  breath  in  a  sani¬ 
tarium  bed  in  Phoenix;  and  then,  scarcely  able  to  be 
up,  he  began  to  go  about.  Presently  he  was  found  in 
a  small  Santa  Fe  railroad  town,  serving  a  little  Metho¬ 
dist  church  as  “supply.”  When  I  became  acquainted 
with  him,  he  was  preaching  to  a  steadily  increasing 
congregation,  directing  a  far  from  ordinary  choir,  and 
shepherding  a  community  that  had  for  years  been  hur¬ 
rying  along,  not  directly  or  deliberately  rejecting,  but 
sadly  forgetting,  God.  He  blessed  me  greatly  as  we 
sat  together.  His  quietly  heroic  spirit  moved  my  soul ; 
and,  when  I  left  him,  I  was  a  richer  man. 

Pecently  in  an  Ohio  city  there  died  the  mother  of 
one  of  my  associates  in  the  United  Society  of  Chris¬ 
tian  Endeavour.  A  fatal  malady  had  for  months 
slowly  worn  away  her  strength;  but  sweetly. and  cheer¬ 
fully,  with  as  fine  a  heroism  as  ever  went  to  death,  she 
entered  the  shadows.  And  she  died  as  she  had  lived. 
When  she  was  a  young  mother  with  six  children,  the 
eldest  fifteen,  her  husband  was  called  by  death,  and 
she  was  left  almost  penniless.  The  record  of  her  life 
from  that  day  forth  is  a  chronicle  of  sacrifices.  She 
baked,  and  sold  her  loaves.  A  former  school-teacher 


Conquerors  of  Circumstance  119 

herself,  she  tutored  her  children,  and  prepared  them 
for  special  recital  work.  As  time  and  strength  allowed, 
the  little  family  delighted  audiences  with  their  music 
and  their  speaking.  The  hoys  sold  papers  and  handy 
articles,  for  the  home.  As  they  grew  older,  they 
worked  after  hours  and  on  Saturdays  in  the  local 
stores.  The  family  was  kept  together.  The  baby  girl 
died,  but  the  two  sisters  and  three  brothers  remaining 
grew  into  beautiful  young  womanhood  and  strong 
young  manhood,  by  the  side  of  the  wonderful  woman 
who  never  for  a  moment  lost  courage  or  surrendered 
her  faith. 

While  I  lay  convalescing  from  an  accident,  I  re^ 
ceived  a  letter  from  this  mother  of  my  friend.  It  was 
written  with  her  left  hand;  her  right  had  already  be¬ 
come  helpless;  and  it  was  the  j oiliest,  happiest  letter 
that  came  to  me  in  those  days.  It  was  beautifully 
composed,  as  airy  as  the  song  of  a  bird  at  the  dawn. 

Ho  woman  ever  worked  harder ;  no  woman  ever  suf¬ 
fered  more  intensely  than  she ;  no  woman  ever  faced 
sterner  handicaps;  no  woman  ever  kept  her  heart 
bright  uncfer  greater  difficulties.  When  she  closed  her 
eyes  and  folded  her  worn-out  hands  in  rest,  she  must 
have  been  quite  satisfied.  Two  daughters,  one  the  wife 
of  a  minister,  the  other  the  wife  of  a  successful  busi¬ 
ness  man  with  whom  she  spent  her  last  days  on  earth, 
were  by  her  side.  One  son,  an  officer  in  the  World’s 
Christian  Endeavour  Union,  was  hurrying  to  her; 
another  in  South  Africa,  and  the  third  a  missionary 
on  the  Uile,  were  far  away,  yet  clasped  in  the  love 
that  made  them  clean  and  strong.  She  was  a  con¬ 
queror  of  circumstance. 

Is  there  an  explanation  that  will  help  us?  What  is 
the  secret  of  this  courage  ?  Where  is  the  hidden 


120 


What  Men  Need  Most 


spring  of  this  life?  You  will  find  it  in  the  fountain 
that  was  opened  long  ago  for  the  healing  of  the  na¬ 
tions.  Jesus  is  speaking  to  a  woman  by  an  ancient 
well;  and,  if  you  will  listen,  you  will  discover  that 
He  has  a  message  for  you.  “Whosoever  drinketh  of 
this  water  shall  thirst  again;  but  whosoever  drinketh 
of  the  water  that  I  shall  give  him  shall  never  thirst; 
but  the  water  that  I  shall  give  him  shall  be  in  him  a 
well  of  water  springing  up  into  everlasting  life.” 
That  glad  word,  whosoever  ” 

Hot  captains,  and  statesmen,  and  all  the  earth’s 
brilliant  and  wise  alone,  but  whosoever ,  whosoever 
will,  may  find  this  hidden  spring,  may  have  this  ex¬ 
panding,  overcoming,  conquering  spirit  within.  I  have 
seen  people  far  removed  from  the  services  of  any 
church,  deprived  of  the  companionship  of  Christians, 
shut  in  by  sickness,  buried  in  the  wilds  of  an  Indian 
reservation,  or  surrounded  by  the  rough  associations 
of  a  mining-camp,  enjoying  the  comradeship  of  this 
great  friend,  and  strengthened  by  Him  to  the  tasks  of 
their  humdrum,  lonesome  lives.  Because  they  had  it 
in  them ! 

Just  recently  a  letter  reached  me  from  a  young  mis¬ 
sionary  in  China  who  during  the  past  year  has  passed 
through  many  dangers.  Referring  to  an  hour  of  great 
terror  he  writes:  “It  is  wonderful  to  feel  God’s  power 
over  the  events  that  without  Him  would  end  in  our 
hurt.  When  attacked  by  bandits  on  the  Canal,  and 
later  when  between  bandits  and  soldiers  during  a 
pitched  battle  that  effected  our  escape,  I  felt  God’s 
protection  and  peace.” 

What  is  your  trouble?  What  are  the  discourage¬ 
ments  of  your  environment?  What  problems  and  dif¬ 
ficulties  weigh  you  down  ?  ruin  your  health  ?  bow  your 


Conquerors  of  Circumstance  121 

soul  ?  You  need  not  tell  me.  One  tiling  I  know.  You 
may  be  a  conqueror  of  circumstance.  You  say  that 
you  have  tried,  and  tried  again,  and  failed?  Well, 
better  men  than  we  are,  and  weaker  men  than  we  are, 
and  men  with  deeper  griefs  and  difficulties,  have  tried 
and  tried  again  and  failed,  and  then  tried  again  and 
succeeded. 

You — yes,  you — may  be  a  conqueror  of  circum¬ 
stance.  Hear  a  conqueror  testify;  one  who  overcame 
the  world;  hear  the  shout  of  his  victory,  “I  can  do  all 
things  through  Christ  which  strengthened  me.” 


12 

FROM  THE  MANGER  TO  THE  THRONE* 

Text:  St.  Luke  1:32.  “He  shall  he  great , 
and  shall  he  called  the  Son  of  the  Most  High ” 

“And  about  this  time  in  Bethlehem  of  Judea  was 
born  Jesus  who  truly  did  many  wonder-tilings.”  In 
these  words  Josephus  records  the  fact  of  the  birth  of 
Him  whom  having  not  seen  we  love,  whose  name  is 
above  every  name,  the  Saviour  of  mankind,  the  Christ 
of  God. 

The  story  of  the  advent  of  the  Messiah,  so  long 
looked  for,  so  ardently  longed  for,  is  the  golden  story 
of  the  ages.  Whatever  men  may  say  of  Him  who  was 
“the  condensation  of  divinity  and  the  exaltation  of 
humanity,”  however  they  may  regard  His  sacrificial 
atonement,  to-day  they  come,  as  did  the  wise  men 
1900  years  ago,  and  kneel  before  the  manger,  and  its 
Babe.  Twenty  years  since,  I  heard  a  distinguished 
rabbi,  now  of  Hew  York  City,  say,  “Jesus!  Jesus! — 
whom  I  love  and  honour;  whom  you  worship  and 
serve.” 

This  is  the  birthday  of  a  King.  Ho!  this  is  the 
birthday  of  the  King,  King  of  kings;  Lord  of  lords. 

How  did  He  come  ?  He  came  in  poverty.  His  birth- 
chamber  was  not  even  a  comfortable  stall.  The  ani¬ 
mals  of  a  well-appointed  farm  are  better  housed  than 

*A  Christmas  sermon. 

122 


From  the  Manger  to  the  Throne  123 

•was  Mary’s  Son  on  His  natal  morn.  For  those  who 
have  seen  the  stables  of  the  East,  the  camel-yards  and 
sheep-folds,  who  remember  the  noisome  odours  from 
the  refuse  heaps,  there  are  no  delusions  in  the  reverent 
pictures  of  the  masters.  The  only-begotten  son  of  the 
Father,  the  Father  who  holdeth  the  wealth  of  the 
worlds  in  His  hands,  was  muffled  in  the  swaddling 
clothes  of  poverty  by  the  hands  of  a  virgin  who  in  her 
travail  hour  was  turned  from  the  door  of  a  village 
inn. 

He  was  born  without  a  complete  family  record.  If 
after  twenty  centuries  there  are  still  those  who  decry 
His  divine  parenthood,  what  of  the  day  in  which  His 
eyelids  fluttered  open  for  the  first  time  ?  The  gospels 
tell  us  little, — they  are  suggestively  silent.  But 
Bethlehem  and  Hazareth  were  not  celestial  villages. 
The  clackers  clacked  and  their  children  pointed  fingers 
of  scorn.  The  years  that  pass  add  lustre  to  the  name 
of  Joseph.  Had  ever  woman  truer  mate?  He  was  a 
man!  But  the  maiden  who  replied  to  the  angel  of 
annunciation,  “Behold  the  handmaiden  of  the  Lord. 
Be  it  unto  me  according  to  thy  word,”  could  not  be 
spared  the  sidelong  glances  and  suggestive  smiles,  nor 
could  the  Babe  upon  her  breast.  To  the  multitude 
Jesus  was  a  child  of  shame.  These  were  the  sinister 
twins  that  stood  about  the  manger  crib — poverty  and 
shame.  Through  childhood  they  companioned  Him; 
in  all  His  life  they  never  wandered  far  from  His  side ; 
for  an  hour  they  were  lost  among  the  palms,  their 
voices  drowned  by  loud  hosannas,  but  quickly  they  re¬ 
turned  to  weave  His  shroud.  They  left  Him  at  the 
Cross. 

The  times  were  evil  when  Jesus  came.  The  sword 
arm  of  Borne  hung  over  the  world,  and  the  voice  of 


124 


What  Men  Need  Most 

authority  was  the  voice  of  the  soldier.  Israel  was  both 
conquered  and  decadent;  her  government  was  directed 
by  strangers  who  gave  a  sop  to  her  princes  by  clothing 
them  with  an  outward  appearance  of  power ;  their 
religion  was  a  dead  formalism  cut  across  by  the  creeds 
and  practices  of  warring  sects;  their  temple  was  a 
market-house  for  gamblers  and  profiteers,  with  priests 
the  chief  offenders;  there  were  no  prophets;  the  faith¬ 
ful  were  discouraged  and  leaderless.  When  Jesus 
came  Jerusalem  was  a  tomb  of  departed  glory. 

But  from  the  manger  Jesus  journeyed  to  His 
throne;  up  from  the  poverty  of  Bethlehem  and  through 
the  shame  of  Hazareth,  He  came  to  rule  the  world. 
His  quiet  voice  was  mightier  than  the  battle  shout  of 
Home,  and  those  who  saw  Him  smile  forgot  that  they 
were  slaves. 

He  was  born  a  King.  The  wise  men  from  the  East 
who  came  with  gifts  to  kneel  before  His  humble  bed, 
the  shepherds  who  heard  the  angels  sing  and  ran  to 
greet  Him  in  the  silent  night,  found  not  the  son  of 
Joseph  but  the  Son  of  God.  Did  we  say  from  the 
manger  to  the  throne  ?  Ah,  the  manger  was  a  throne. 
A  steep,  long  road  he  travelled  to  His  crown,  but  al¬ 
ways  He  was  king, — king  because  He  was,  and  king 
because  He  was  kingly.  In  others  we  discover  flaws 
and  love  them  none  the  less, — in  Him  we  find  no  fault 
at  all.  He  was  the  perfect  man  who  was  and  is  very 
God. 

Jesus  was  the  supreme  demonstration  of  character., 
He  was  a  monarch  not  because  of  earthly  circumstance, 
rather  in  spite  of  it,  and  in  the  final  analysis  not  be¬ 
cause  of  blood.  He  had  within  Himself  the  power  to 
be,  or  not  to  be;  He  could  have  overthrown  the  plan 


From  the  Manger  to  the  Throne  125 

of  His  Heavenly  Father  and  by  silence  as  well  as  by 
refusal;  but  in  appalling  physical  and  mental  hard¬ 
ships,  in  evil  report  and  through  misunderstandings 
that  broke  His  heart, — misunderstandings  that  brought 
home  to  Him  the  stern  realisation  that  He  would  be 
rejected  of  men  because  they  would  be  unwilling  to 
accept  Him  for  what  He  was,  and  for  what  He  had  to 
offer, — He  was  true  to  Himself  and  to  His  mission; 
He  kept  the  faith.  The  truth  is  for  us  all. 

He  may  have  toiled  with  grimy  hands 
And  shoulders  bowed  with  care, 

Yet  been  a  King! 

He  may  have  laboured  through  long  years 
Of  battling  want  and  grim  despair, 

Yet  been  a  King! 

He  may  have  died  in  grief  alone, 

Unwept,  unhonoured  and  unknown, 

Yet  been  a  King! 

Men  did  not  think  that  they  had  rejected  the  king¬ 
dom  and  their  Messiah,  when  they  finally  denied  Jesus, 
but  they  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  kind  of 
kingdom  they  came  at  last  to  see  He  had  for  them. 
They  had  thought  too  long  in  terms  of  gilded  vessels 
and  burnished  trappings.  They  had  read  history  at 
the  expense  of  prophecy.  They  knew  Saul  and  David 
better  than  they  knew  Isaiah.  They  were  wiser  in 
politics  and  trade  than  they  were  in  religion.  Their 
eyes  were  blinded  so  that  when  their  great  day  dawned 
they  did  not  recognise  it. 

Ah,  what  a  tragedy !  To  suffer  as  Israel  suffered 
and  then  to  refuse  the  healing ;  to  wait  as  Israel  waited 
and  then  to  lose  the  glory.  And  on  every  Christmas 


126 


What  Men  Need  Most 


Day  we  face  the  danger  that  proved  too  great  a  menace 
for  the  Jew.  We,  too,  wait  on  temporal  power  and 
pnt  our  trust  in  royal  purple.  We,  too,  think  in  terms 
of  gains,  and  ask  the  price  of  gifts.  We,  too,  seek  the 
higher  seats  and  scheme  for  place.  Again  the  rabble 
cries,  Crucify !  Crucify ! 

But  He  is  King.  Let  no  note  of  pessimism  domi¬ 
nate  this  day.  And  His  kingdom  of  the  spirit  has 
wider  sway  than  ever  before.  When  we  think  of  the 
principles  He  preached  nearly  two  thousand  years 
ago, — think  of  them  in  the  abstract  and  apart  from 
their  historical  associations,  we  feel  like  joining  our¬ 
selves  to  the  discouraged  prophet,  but  when  we  study 
society  now  as  related  to  society  then,  we  find  reason 
to  take  heart.  More  and  more  Jesus  has  captured  the 
imaginations  of  men;  more  and  more  as  their  own 
efforts  have  failed  they  have  turned  to  Him.  More 
and  more  they  have  inclined  to  accept  His  idealism, 
as  the  standard  for  living;  more  and  more  they  have 
come  to  agree  that  He  is  for  time,  as  well  asffor  eter¬ 
nity, — the  Way,  the  Truth,  and  the  Life. 

He  is  King  of  kings,  and  His  Kingdom  is  at  hand. 
Slowly,  but  steadily  and  irresistibly,  that  which  the 
disciples  preached,  even  though  they  did  not  fully 
understand  it,  is  coming  into  existence.  The  destruc¬ 
tion  of  piracy  and  slavery;  the  overthrow  of  the  pri¬ 
vate  feud;  the  outlawing  of  the  liquor  traffic  and  the 
traffic  in  girls;  the  emancipation  of  women;  the  con¬ 
servation  of  childhood;  the  serious  discussion  of  dis¬ 
armament;  the  new  diplomacy  in  International  Rela¬ 
tions;  and  the  higher  conception  of  the  responsibility 
of  the  strong  for  the  weak, — are  steps  of  progress  in 
the  way  that  Jesus  opened  long  ago  for  the  healing  of 
the  nations. 


From  the  Manger  to  the  Throne  127 

THUS  HIS  KINGDOM  COMES 

Armies  marching  to  and  fro; 

Clank  of  steel  and  crash  of  blow; 

Brother  laying  brother  low, — 

This  the  setting  long  ago, 

When  the  Prince  of  Peace  was  born. 

Armies  marching  to  and  fro ; 

Clank  of  steel  and  crash  of  blow, 

Brother  laying  brother  low, — 

Setting  now  as  long  ago, 

For  the  Holy  Christmas  Morn. 

Peasantry  with  naked  feet, 

Children  starving  in  the  street, 

Plenty  in  the  manor  seat, 

Lust  and  squalor, — these  to  greet, 

When  the  manger  held  a  King. 

Peasantry  with  naked  feet, 

Children  starving  in  the  street, 

Plenty  in  the  manor  seat, 

Lust  and  squalor, — still  to  greet, 

As  the  Christ  Child  carols  ring. 

But  His  blood  cried  from  the  ground, 

From  Golgotha’s  reeking  mound, — 

For  the  world’s  great  open  wound, 

Thus  the  triumph  way  was  found 
For  the  nations  long  ago. 

And  the  road  is  still  the  same; 

By  the  cross  and  by  the  flame, 

Truth  prevails  o’er  wrong  and  shame, 

Who  Will  Follow  in  His  Tkain? 

Thus  His  Kingdom  comes  below. 


128 


What  Men  Need  Most 


Jesus: — this  King  who  journeyed  from  the  manger 
to  the  throne,  is  King  of  kings  because  He  is  monarch 
of  the  soul.  He  commands  the  spirit.  Here  His 
empire  has  its  sway.  He  healed  the  sick;  He  raised 
the  dead,  and  now  His  boundary  lines  are  marked  by 
hospitals  and  held  by  surgeons,  but  His  Kingdom  is 
not  of  this  world.  His  Kingdom  is  in  this  world  and 
over  it,  and  He  shall  reign  “where’er  the  sun  does 
his  successive  journeys  run,”  because  He  rules  the 
heart. 

To-day  with  far-visioning  hopes  we  plan  disarma¬ 
ment  where  yesterday  we  poisoned  men  with  gas  and 
slew  the  sons  of  men  until  their  blood  ran  down  the 
earth,  and  every  hope  that  sees  a  star  is  set  to  the 
music  that  was  heard  first  by  shepherds  on  Judea’s 
hills  when  angels  sang,  “Peace  on  earth,  goodwill  to 
men.”  War  can  change  national  boundaries  and  hate 
can  level  cities  and  destroy  nations,  but  only  God  can 
build  a  new  earth,  for  God  alone  can  make  new  crea¬ 
tures  out  of  men. 

Perhaps  this  is  the  message  that  we  need  to-day  as 
we  need  no  other.  Are  we  trusting  too  much  in  our¬ 
selves,  in  our  statesmanship,  in  our  culture,  in  our 
traditions,  in  our  wisdom,  in  our  temporal  advantages 
and  natural  resources?  Let  us  not  forget  that  every¬ 
thing  this  generation  has,  as  compared  with  its  prob¬ 
lems  and  dangers,  every  other  generation  has  had. 
Athens  was  not  less  cultured  than  Paris;  Rome  was 
as  mighty  as  Washington! 

His  Kingdom  is  spiritual  and  it  is  love, — the  love 
that  casteth  out  fear;  the  love  that  gathers  little  chil¬ 
dren  to  its  breast  and  blesses  them;  the  love  that 
seeketh  not  her  own;  the  love  that  beareth  all  things; 
the  love  that  is  greater  than  faith,  mightier  than  hope 


From  the  Manger  to  the  Throne  129 

and  that  never  faileth.  This  love  is  to-day  the  most 
potent  power,  the  most  practical  thing  in  the  world. 
For  a  state  it  is  a  greater  protection  than  a  grand 
fleet;  in  business  it  is  infinitely  more  effective  than 
espionage  and  undercover  methods;  interracially  it 
has  the  only  prophecy  of  peace.  Love  thy  neighbour 
as  thyself,  is  the  Magna  Charta  of  human  brotherhood, 
and  only  as  its  principle  is  applied  will  men  be  secure 
in  person  and  purse,  will  industry  be  humanised,  and 
swords  beaten  into  ploughshares. 

But  what  think  you  of  Christ?  That  is  the  ques¬ 
tion.  And  what  does  Christmas  mean  to  you?  There 
is  a  wonderful  story  told  of  a  woman  taken  in  adul¬ 
tery  who  was  brought  to  Jesus.  Reading  the  minds 
of  her  accusers,  and  knowing  their  hypocrisy,  he  said, 
‘‘Let  him  that  is  without  fault  cast  the  first  stone,” 
and  while  one  by  one  until  all  had  gone  they  stole 
silentlv  awav,  He  wrote  in  the  sand.  Then  to  the  un- 
fortunate  sister  of  all  who  have  sinned,  as  she  sinned, 
He  spoke  the  great  emancipation,  “Go  and  sin  no 
more.”  Hot  stones,  but  salvation  is  His  remedy  for 
fallen  women,  and  for  fallen  men.  Every  home  for 
unfortunates,  every  rescue  mission,  is  an  outpost  of 
His  Kingdom,  and  that  which  prisons  and  guillotines 
have  failed  to  do,  His  grace  is  all-sufficient  for.  He 
touches  the  hidden  springs  of  life.  He  brings  forward 
the  best;  He  is  the  captain  of  the  soul  and  when  He 
speaks  and  when  I  hear  and  follow  Him,  though  dead 
in  trespasses  and  sins,  I  pass  from  death  to  life. 

It  is  here  that  the  Christian  religion,  when  com¬ 
pared  with  all  other  faiths,  is  unique  and  stands  su¬ 
preme.  “What  can  wash  away  my  sin  ?”  has  been  the 
agonising  cry  of  man  since  Adam  fell.  “What  can 
make  me  whole  again  ?”  And  the  only  answer  that 


130 


What  Men  Need  Most 


has  ever  satisfied,  is  the  answer  that  comes  from  Cal¬ 
vary,  “Nothing  hut  the  blood  of  Jesus.”  There  are 
some  things  that  I  can  do  to  right  the  wrongs  that  I 
have  done,  hut  I  cannot  forgive  myself,  nor  can  I  buy 
forgiveness  for  you  do  not  have  it;  nor  can  I  earn 
it, — it  is  the  gift  of  God. 

To-day  we  acclaim  the  world’s  greatest  conqueror 
and  He  is  not  among  the  mighty  captains  who  over¬ 
threw  strong  cities  and  compassed  far  seas  to  enslave 
strange  peoples.  Nor  is  He  numbered  with  the  wise 
who  made  great  discoveries,  who  bridged  vast  spaces 
and  brought  the  lightnings  down  to  drive  the  wheels 
of  trade.  Greater  things  than  these  fall  from  His 
hand  like  snowflakes  from  a  winter  cloud,  for  when 
He  promised  Paradise  to  a  thief  who  hung  beside  Him 
on  a  cross,  and  when  He  cleansed  the  woman  of  her 
shame,  He  did  the  greater  things  than  these. 

This  is  the  day  of  Gifts, — the  day  of  joy  and  sing¬ 
ing,  the  children’s  day. 

Glad  I  am  for  dear  old  Christmas, 

Time  of  singing,  time  of  joy, 

Glad  I  am  that  once  I  lived  it, 

Just  a  tousle-headed  boy. 

Glad  I  am  to  know  the  crossing 
In  the  sullen  tide  between 
Hither  banks  that  fade  and  tarnish 
And  the  fields  of  living  green. 

Por  the  miles  that  are  so  many 
’Twixt  me  here  and  those  I  love, 

Will  be  nothing  when  we  gather 
In  the  Father’s  house  above. 


From  the  Manger  to  the  Throne  131 

And  I  think,  ah,  yes,  ?tis  knowledge, 

I  shall  know  as  I  am  known, 

When  I  celebrate  first  Christmas 
With  the  family  ’round  the  Throne. 

This  is  the  day  of  Gifts.  You  gave  a  doll  to-day  and 
heard  your  daughter’s  cry  of  pure  delight.  Your  son, 
your  wife,  your  friend,  the  ones  that  you  love  best, 
took  from  your  hands  the  treasures  that  however  poor 
they  may  have  been  were  rich  as  ropes  of  pearls  because 
you  found  them  in  your  heart. 

This  is  the  day  of  Gifts,  and  at  its  close  we  bring 
to  you  the  greatest  gift  of  all,  the  gift  of  peace, — the 
peace  that  passeth  understanding,— the  peace  of  sins 
forgiven,— the  gift  of  love.  I  bring  to  you  this  great¬ 
est  gift  of  all, — it  is  not  mine,  it  is  the  Gift  of  God, 
for  God  is  love,  and  “He  so  loved  the  world  that  He 
gave  his  only  begotten  son,  that  whosoever  believeth  on 
Him  should  not  perish,  but  have  everlasting  life.” 


13 

WE  FINISH  TO  BEGIN  * 

Text:  St.  John  19:30.  “It  is  finished ” 

“We  finish  to  begin.”  Always  we  stand  in  an  exit 
and  at  an  entrance.  Forever  one  year  is  behind  us; 
another  is  before  us. 

“We  finish  to  begin/’  but  what  does  it  mean? 
The  blotters  in  the  various  police  courts  of  the  great 
cities  show  the  record  of  crimes  committed  by  outlaws 
who  prey  upon  their  fellows;  the  morning  press  re¬ 
cords  deeds  of  violence  perpetrated  upon  society  by 
evil-doers  who  finish  one  year  of  sin  but  to  begin 
another.  And,  as  the  thug  upon  his  way  to  robbery 
and  murder  heard  the  bells  chime  the  New  Year,  his 
actions  spoke  louder  than  words,  “I  finish  to  begin.” 

The  labouring  man  who  skimps  his  work,  who  gives 
less  than  an  honest  day  for  his  wage,  who  as  a  leader 
fastens  upon  his  fellows  ridiculous  rules  and  regula¬ 
tions,  with  a  system  of  inexcusable  fines  that  place  a 
premium  upon  inefficiency  if  not  sabotage,  who  talks 
about  society  as  owing  him  something  when  he  is  in 
reality  earning  little  or  nothing,  who  in  thinking  and 
acting  for  himself  forgets  or  despises  the  general  pub¬ 
lic,  which  has  been  long-suffering,  but  which  has  suf¬ 
fered  too  long  already,  finishes  only  to  begin.  Will 
this  slacker  worker  continue  to  misrepresent  the  great 

*  A  New  Year’s  sermon. 

132 


133 


We  Finish  to  Begin 

body  of  bis  fellows,  prejudicing  their  honest  cause, 
robbing  them  of  the  sympathy  they  need  and  should 
have  ?  Will  he  continue  to  play  into  the  hands  of  those 
he  seeks  to  destroy,  not  only  rendering  hopeless  his 
own  ill-advised  programme,  but  thwarting  the  pur¬ 
poses  of  the  wise  and  patriotic  leaders  who  seek  to 
safeguard  the  rights  of  the  toiler  and  to  win  for  him 
a  larger  place  in  the  industrial  and  social  order?  He 
has  finished  and  he  will  begin,  but  has  he  finished  to 
begin? 

The  employer  who  turned  grimly  from  the  war,  say¬ 
ing,  “Xow  that  we  have  won,  we  must  quickly  get  back 
to  business  as  usual” ;  the  employer  who  failed  to 
realise  that  things  would  never  again  be  as  they  had 
been,  who  was  surprised  and  indignant  because  for¬ 
eign-born  peoples  who  had  been  called  “Americans 
All !”  when  disaster  was  threatening  the  Allies,  re¬ 
sented  in  bitterness  being  treated  like  “hunkies  and 
Polacks  and  dagoes”  after  the  armistice  was  signed, 
who  refused  conferences,  who  denied  collective  bar¬ 
gaining,  who  shut  the  door  in  the  face  of  chosen  rep¬ 
resentatives  of  his  workers,  who  employed  under-cover 
men — spies,  who  found  an  ever-ready  weapon  in  the 
lie,  and  who  did  not  stop  at  murder, — this  employer 
has  finished,  too. 

THiat  is  in  his  mind  as  he  faces  the  future?  Has 
he  learned  anything  from  the  International  Harvester 
Company’s  demonstration  of  the  participation  of  la¬ 
bour  in  the  control  of  industry  ? — a  demonstration 
that  recently  and  for  the  first  time  in  history  revealed 
workers  by  their  own  votes  reducing  their  own  pay, 
when  the  business  was  found  unable  to  maintain  the 
higher  wage  ?  Has  he  heard  of  the  shop  committee  in 
such  institutions  as  the  Colorado  Fuel  and  Iron  Com- 


134 


What  Men  Need  Most 


pany  of  the  Rockefellers?  Does  lie  know  anything 
about  the  results  that  have  come  to  great  department 
stores  through  profit-sharing  with  employes?  Has  he 
an  open  mind  and  a  new  heart?  Has  the  worker,  has 
the  employer,  an  open  mind  and  a  new  heart?  They 
have  finished,  and  they  will  begin;  but  have  they 
finished  to  begin  ? 

There  are  business  men  who  during  the  financial 
stress  and  strain  of  the  immediate  past  drifted  out  of 
the  lives  of  their  sons  and  daughters.  Foolish  indeed 
-  should  I  be  carelessly  to  censure  them.  They  may 
have  faced  the  spectre  of  financial  disaster  and  gone 
to  death-grips  with  bankruptcy.  Hot  all  of  them  by 
any  means  have  made  a  deliberate  choice  between 
honour  and  business.  Hor  have  all  of  them  been  car¬ 
ried  away  by  the  passion  for  success  as  measured  by 
gold.  But  what  they  have  lost,  not  all  the  gold  of 
Midas  could  restore ;  and  what  their  children  are 
losing,  no  accountant  will  ever  be  able  to  compute. 

One  afternoon  while  fishing  in  a  small  tributary  of 
the  Siletz  River  in  the  Pacific  Horthwest,  I  came  upon 
a  jam  of  driftwood  that  partially  dammed  the  mouth 
of  a  yet  smaller  creek  that  rushed  down  a  canon  of  the 
coast  mountains.  Among  the  logs  and  branches  I 
found  several  fine  specimens  of  fresh  beaver  cuts,  and, 
hoping  to  discover  a  beaver  colony  not  far  away,  I 
unjointed  my  rod,  cached  my  pack,  and  followed  up 
the  ravine.  The  beavers  were  more  distant  than  I 
expected ;  indeed,  I  never  reached  them,  but  I  did  find 
something  vastly  more  interesting.  Where  the  canon 
widened  into  a  tiny  valley,  I  came  upon  a  cabin.  The 
great  firs  had  been  cut  away,  and  the  log  house  with 
its  sheds  and  barn  was  set  in  the  middle  of  a  two-acre 
clearing. 


135 


We  Finish  to  Begin 

Now  there  were  many  cabins  in  those  mountains, 
the  cabins  of  timber-cruisers  and  of  men  and  women 
who  were  proving  up  on  timber  claims.  But  the  fruit- 
trees  and  garden  and  tiny  flower-yard,  and  the  morn¬ 
ing-glories  climbing  over  a  trellis,  placed  this  “wee 
hoose”  in  a  class  by  itself.  A  man  was  hoeing  corn 
in  the  field,  and  a  bareheaded  little  girl  was  following 
behind  him.  We  greeted  each  other  and  talked  for 
an  hour.  We  had  not  spoken  two  words,  indeed,  he 
had  not  passed  beyond  the  smile  of  welcome,  until  I 
knew  him  for  what  he  was, — an  educated  and  a  cul¬ 
tured  gentleman.  An  older  girl,  nine,  perhaps,  joined 
us  while  we  talked.  Mentally  I  commented  upon  the 
absence  of  the  mother. 

We  discussed  politics — it  was  August,  1900,  the 
year  of  McKinley’s  re-election.  I  found  him  thor¬ 
oughly  acquainted  with  the  issues  of  the  campaign. 
He  knew  the  beavers,  too,  and  took  me  into  one  of  the 
most  attractive  living  rooms  I  have  ever  seen,  to  look 
at  the  skins  he  had  gathered,  skins  of  muskrats  and 
lynx  as  well  as  of  beaver.  There  was  a  “baby  organ” 
in  one  corner  of  the  room;  music  and  books, — good 
books, — magazines,  and  pictures  were  everywhere. 
One  of  the  pictures,  I  remember,  was  Hoffmann’s 
“Boy  Christ”;  another  was  “The  Landing  of  the  Pil¬ 
grims”;  and  over  the  mantle  hung  an  exquisite  paint¬ 
ing  of  a  young  and  beautiful  woman.  We  talked  for 
an  hour,  and  then  I  hurried  away.  He  had  not  spoken 
of  himself,  and  of  course  I  had  not  asked  any  personal 
questions;  but  later  I  learned  his  story. 

He  was  a  successful  young  business  man,  the  son  and 
heir  of  a  wealthy  manufacturer,  happily  married,  and 
with  two  little  daughters,  when  his  wife  suddenly  died. 
After  struggling  along  for  a  year  he  startled  and 


136 


What  Men  Need  Most 


amazed  his  Eastern  associates  by  quietly  announcing 
that  he  had  purchased  an  unimproved  quarter-section 
of  timber-land  in  the  Northwest,  and  that  he  was  with¬ 
drawing  from  all  business  responsibilities  to  move 
into  the  wilds  to  spend  five  years  with  his  daughters. 
He  was  not  bitter.  He  simply  decided  that  to  remain 
where  he  was  meant  inevitably  the  loss  of  the  greatest 
joy  of  his  fatherhood.  He  believed  that  for  five  years 
he  could  give  to  his  little  girls  every  vital  thing  that 
they  needed,  that  at  the  end  of  that  time  they  would  be 
ready  to  return,  go  on  with  their  studies,  and  enter 
the  normal  life  of  his  people. 

Financially  he  was  in  a  position  to  do  as  he  wished. 
Certain  ambitions  were  of  course  sacrificed;  but  de¬ 
liberately  he  made  the  choice,  and  to-day  he  does  not 
regret  it.  He  lived  in  the  remote  mountains  a  year 
longer  than  he  had  originally  planned  to  stay.  Now 
and  then  relatives  of  the  children  visited  them,  and 
two  or  three  times  every  year  the  little  girls  went  out 
with  their  father  for  supplies;  that  was  all.  He  was 
their  tutor  and  their  guide,  their  housekeeper,  their 
playmate,  their  father,  and,  with  the  help  of  the  pic¬ 
ture,  their  mother.  No  women  in  all  this  world  have 
richer,  sweeter  memories  of  their  childhood  than  the 
two  little  girls  I  saw  for  the  first  and  last  time  more 
than  twenty  years  ago  in  the  Oregon  mountains. 

Fathers  and  mothers,  we  have  finished  with  the  old 
year;  what  of  the  new?  We  cannot  go  to  the  wilds 
with  our  children,  but  we  can  come  out  of  the  wilder¬ 
ness  of  society  and  business  in  which  they  have  lost 
us.  We  finish  to-night.  Oh,  let  us  begin. 

Internationally  the  old  year  has  been  a  year  of  old 
wounds  reopened  and  bled  afresh.  Would  to  God  the 
nations  with  a  mighty  and  united  voice  might  say, 


137 


We  Finish  to  Begin 

“We  finish;  we  finish,  and  we  finish  to  begin !”  We 
finish  a  year  of  suspicion  and  war,  a  year  of  planning 
and  building  and  wasting  against  future  wars,  a  year 
of  impoverishment  and  famine.  We  finish,  and  we 
finish  to  begin;  to  begin  a  new  year;  a  year  of  peace; 
a  year  of  disarmament;  a  year  in  which  battle-fleets 
shall  be  dismantled,  fortifications  scrapped,  and  armies 
disbanded;  a  year  in  which  the  vast  energies  of  civili¬ 
sation  shall  be  mobilised  against  hunger,  disease,  and 
poverty;  a  year  of  war,  but  a  year  of  war  for  man  and 
not  against  him;  and  God  pity  the  nation  or  the  na¬ 
tions  that  block  the  road  of  hope  up  which  civilisation 
struggles  in  a  bloody  sweat. 

One  Sunday  evening  in  the  spring  of  1921  a 
young  man  came  into  a  great  New  York  church, 
drenched  to  the  skin,  sadly  under  the  influence  of 
liquor,  a  wreck  in  body  and  in  mind.  The  story  is  the 
old  one,  in  which  an  invalid  mother,  a  broken-hearted 
father,  a  wife  and  babies  and  a  ruined  career  are 
mixed  with  the  tears  of  grief  and  churned  by  the  ladle 
of  sin.  The  church  did  the  best  that  it  could  for  him, 
but  I  have  been  thinking  of  him  to-day,  and  wonder¬ 
ing  what  he  is  saying  to-night.  I  have  been  thinking 
about  him  because  there  are  so  many  of  him  in  every 
city.  What  is  he  saying?  God  help  him  to  say,  “I 
finish;  I  finish,  and,  trusting  in  Christ  for  strength, 
I  finish  to  begin,  finish  to  begin  a  new  life.” 

Ten  years  ago  I  watched  the  old  year  out  in  the 
Pacific  Garden  Mission,  Chicago,  the  mission  that  cap¬ 
tured  “Mel”  Trotter  and  Harry  Monroe  and  Billy 
Sunday  and  thousands  of  others  for  God.  It  was  home¬ 
coming  night;  the  room  was  crowded;  there  were  men 
and  women  present  from  all  sections  of  the  country. 
As  is  always  the  case  in  such  a  service,  the  testimonies 


138 


What  Men  Need  Most 


of  the  converts  were  the  most  gripping  portion  of  the 
programme.  One  of  the  speakers,  a  man  in  middle 
life,  said  that  years  before  on  a  New  Year’s  night  he 
had  staggered  down  the  aisle  of  that  old  hall  and  fallen 
in  a  half-stupor  across  its  altar-rail;  that  somehow 
God  had  saved  him  there,  given  him  a  new  heart,  a 
new  life,  and  that  in  the  early  hours  of  a  New  Year’s 
morning  he  had  walked  through  the  doors  of  that  mis¬ 
sion  a  new  man  in  Christ  Jesus.  He  told  how  he  had 
returned  to  his  wife,  and  how  together  they  had  rebuilt 
their  broken  home.  He  concluded  by  saying,  “To¬ 
night,  by  the  grace  of  God,  I  am  a  respected  citizen 
of  my  city,  president  of  a  bank,  and  father  of  a  Chris¬ 
tian  family.”  He  had  finished  one  year,  and  he  had 
finished  it  to  begin  another. 

Few  of  us  find  anything  in  our  experience  that 
brings  us  to  common  ground  with  this  man;  you  were 
never  on  the  street,  sodden  in  a  vice,  the  victim  of  an 
evil  appetite;  or  perhaps  you  were.  But  there  is  no 
one  who  does  not  have  temptations  and  problems  and 
weaknesses,  who  does  not  look  back  upon  an  old  year 
that  has  in  it  something  that,  when  we  are  honest  with 
ourselves,  we  wish  had  never  been.  Thank  God,  you 
have  finished  the  old  year,  and  thank  God  that  you 
may  finish  to  begin  a  new  year. 

Ah,  sad  it  would  be  if  we  but  finished,  if  there  were 
no  new  year  to  begin!  What  you  have  written  you 
have  written,  but  you  have  not  written  all.  The  page 
is  full,  but  the  book  is  not  completed;  turn  the  page! 
turn  the  page  to-night! 

Has  the  year  been  disastrous  to  your  plans,  or  has 
it  brushed  the  hand  of  death  across  your  brow  ?  Has 
it  witnessed  the  wrecking  of  cherished  ambitions  or 
the  loss  of  trusted  friends?  Has  it  overwhelmed  you 


139 


We  Finish  to  Begin 

with  physical  pain  and  mental  anguish?  Well,  the 
year  is  finished,  and  all  of  these  are  tragedies  of  the 
past.  Begin  again! 

Or  has  the  old  year  brought  joy  and  peace  to  your 
door  ?  Has  it  carried  for  you  “ apples  of  gold  in  pic¬ 
tures  of  silver”  ?  Ah,  then  you  are  ready  with  sing¬ 
ing  lips  and  shouting  soul  to  begin  a  new. 

The  old  is  gone,  gone  beyond  recall,  gone  forever. 
But  for  the  new  the  tide  has  just  begun  to  turn.  We 
begin ! 

Then  what  of  this  beginning  ?  How  shall  we  begin  ? 
Merchants  are  making  inventories  and  taking  account 
of  stock,  and  we  are  planning  in  a  more  or  less  definite 
way  our  programme  of  work  and  of  pleasure  for  an¬ 
other  year.  But,  as  we  look  back,  how  futile  it  all 
appears!  We  do  our  best;  we  honour  our  clearest 
judgments,  and  we  should;  but  how  utterly  impossible 
it  is  to  anticipate  the  happenings  of  a  year !  In  three 
hundred  and  sixty-five  days 

“The  best  laid  schemes  o’  mice  and  men 
Gang  aft  agley.” 

There  is  absolutely  nothing  that  we  can  do  to  assure 
ourselves  health,  success,  and  happiness.  The  new 
year  is  for  all  of  us  a  land  of  mystery  with  many  a 
river  of  doubt  and  many  an  unmarked  crossing.  We 
may  win  and  we  may  lose.  We  may  greet  our  ships 
as  heavy-laden  they  return  from  distant  seas,  or  we  may 
wait  for  them  in  vain.  We  may  live,  and  we  may  not. 
We  may  hold  the  home  lines  firmly,  or  death  may 
break  through  our  last  defences  and  leave  a  smoulder¬ 
ing  ruin  in  our  heart.  We  do  not  make  the  weather, 
and  we  are  seldom  good  prophets.  There  will  be 


140 


Wliat  Men  Need  Most 


winter  and  there  will  be  summer,  but  who  shall  tell  ns 
truly,  “If  winter  comes,  can  spring  be  far  behind 

We  are  at  the  beginning;  but  the  end,  and  even  the 
next  step,  is  hidden  from  us.  The  pathway  we  travel 
unfolds  as  a  road  through  the  deep  forests  and  sunny 
open  places  of  an  ever-changing  country.  We  are  be¬ 
ginning  a  journey  to-night,  a  journey  that  calls  for  a 
guide;  for  with  what  I  know  of  the  old  year,  I  do  not 
care  to  enter  the  new  alone.  There  are  those  by  my 
side  who  went  with  me  to  the  gates  of  death  and  back 
again,  but  neither  they  nor  I  would  care  to  face  the 
future  without  God.  To-night  it  is  for  me,  and  I  hope 
for  you,  the  beginning,  and  “in  the  beginning,  God.” 
He  knows  this  way.  He  is  master  of  its  mysteries; 
to  Him  it  has  no  terrors;  and  I  am  safe  when  by  His 
side. 

We  finish  to  begin.  I  am  glad.  We  may  not  know, 
but  we  do  hope,  hope  with  the  hope  that  springs  eternal 
in  the  human  breast,  hope  with  the  hope  that  sends 
men  and  women  forth  with  radiant  faith  to  dare  the 
great  adventure.  We  are  at  the  beginning,  and  we  are 
glad,  glad,  to  have  lived,  glad  to  be  alive. 


14 


THE  LIGHT  THAT  HAS  NEVER  FAILED 

Text:  St.  Johx  8 : 12.  “I  am  the  light  of  the 
world:  he  that  follow eth  me  shall  not  walk  in 
the  darkness,  but  shall  have  the  light  of  life,” 

In  the  Old  Testament  there  is  a  very  wonderful 
story  of  a  lamp  with  an  unfailing  light  in  it,  a  perfect 
picture  of  the  Bible’s  relation  to  Jesus  Christ.  The 
“Book  of  books”  contains  Him,  and  He  is  the  light  of 
the  world.  Through  the  Bible’s  brightly  burnished 
lenses  He  shines.  Its  divinely  inspired  pages  reveal 
Him.  In  it  we  see  Jesus,  and  following  its  admoni¬ 
tions  we  follow  the  Christ. 

Some  men  profess  to  find  a  contradiction  between 
the  emphatic  statement  of  the  Hew  Testament,  “I  am 
the  light  of  the  world,”  and  the  equally  emphatic  dec¬ 
laration,  “Ye  are  the  light  of  the  world.”  There  is  no 
contradiction.  We  are  the  light  of  the  world  only  be¬ 
cause  He  is  the  light  of  the  world,  and  because  He, 
being  in  us,  shines  out  through  us. 

How  perfectly  this  marvellous  relationship  between 
the  human  and  the  divine  was  portrayed  when  at  the 
healing  of  a  blind  man  the  Great  Physician  said,  “As 
long  as  I  am  in  the  world,  I  am  the  light  of  the 
world.”  I  can  almost  hear  Him  continue:  “And  after 
I  return  to  the  Bather  I  must  particularly  rely  upon 

you.  Then  ye  are  the  light  of  the  world.” 

141 


142 


What  Men  Need  Most 


It  is  no  mean  thing  to  be  a  Christian.  To  be  a 
Christian  is  a  terrible  responsibility.  A  failing  beacon 
on  Cape  Cod  means  a  clipper  in  the  shoals.  A  Chris¬ 
tian  going  astray  often  has  led  another  life  to  ship¬ 
wreck.  But  do  you  hesitate  ?  Do  you  refuse  to  become 
a  Christian  because  of  the  responsibility?  It  is  use¬ 
less  for  you  to  do  so,  for  you  escape  nothing;  the  re¬ 
sponsibility  remains,  but  by  your  own  choice  you  are 
a  lamp  unfilled  and  unburning.  To  hopeless  people 
about  you,  struggling  in  darkness,  you  deliberately 
deny  the  gleam  that  might  save  them  from  paths  of 
pain,  from  pitfalls  of  disaster. 

The  only  complete  failure  is  the  failure  of  the  man 
who  refuses  to  try.  And  how  glorious  a  thing  it  is  to 
try,  to  do  your  level  best,  to  face  temptation  and  re¬ 
sponsibility  !  How  glorious  a  thing  it  is  to  dare  all, 
trusting  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  for  strength! 

Ah!  there  is  the  difference!  I  cannot  fail  if  I  am 
true;  for  He  is  the  light,  I  am  the  light-keeper. 
Mine  to  keep  the  lenses  burnished  and  the  vessel  filled; 
His,  to  shine.  When  I  refuse,  I  refuse  the  light,  and 
I  deny  the  light  to  those  who  would  see  it  if  I  but 
released  it.  From  the  standpoint  of  responsibility  it 
is  a  fearful  thing  to  be  a  Christian,  but  it  is  an  in¬ 
finitely  more  terrible  thing  to  refuse  to  be  one. 

Did  I  say  that  it  is  a  fearful  thing  to  be  a  Chris¬ 
tian?  Yes,  because  immortal  souls  rest  upon  us  their 
destiny  to  a  degree  beyond  our  comprehending.  But 
it  is  equally  true  that  it  is  the  only  thing  that  casteth 
out  fear;  the  burden  of  responsibility  becomes  a  burden 
of  joy,  and  fear  is  lost  in  faith. 

The  only  man  who  has  a  right  to  confidence  is  the 
man  who  walks  with  Christ,  for  he  and  he  only  walks 
in  the  light.  This  is  the  light  “that  lighteth  every 


The  Light  That  Has  Never  Failed  143 

man.”  Put  your  trust  in  no  other.  Be  satisfied  with 
no  substitute,  and  allow  no  false  or  superficial  counsel 
to  start  you  in  the  wrong  direction.  A  few  years  ago 
a  student  in  the  senior  class  of  a  great  State  univer¬ 
sity  came  into  my  office,  and  discussed  with  me  his 
after-college  career.  He  had  two  splendid  offers ; 
they  appeared  to  be  equally  attractive.  He  was  dis¬ 
turbed  and  uncertain;  several  times  in  the  course  of 
the  conversation  he  said,  “Oh,  it  would  bo  easy  enough 
if  I  had  only  one  of  them.” 

Before  he  left  I  slipped  the  bolt  in  the  door  of  the 
inner  office,  and,  kneeling  by  the  table,  we  prayed  to¬ 
gether  for  light,  more  light.  I  saw  him  again  after 
Commencement  and  there  was  no  uncertainty  in  the 
smile  with  which  he  said,  “I’ve  settled  it,  and  it’s  all 
right.”  “How  did  you  do  it?”  I  questioned.  There 
was  the  suggestion  of  surprise  in  his  tone  as  he  an¬ 
swered,  “I  prayed  through.” 

I  do  not  know  what  darkness  of  doubt  or  uncer¬ 
tainty  or  grief  or  disappointment  may  surround  you; 
but  I  do  know  that  Jesus  is  the  light,  that  He  will 
make  plain  the  way  for  you ;  that,  if  you  will  but  look, 
you  may  live.  Friends  advise  us  and  cheer.  Friends 
comfort  and  strengthen  us;  but  the  best  advice  ever 
given  me  by  a  friend  was  the  advice  to  put  my  trust, 
my  faith,  my  life,  my  all,  in  Jesus  Christ. 

“O  Light,  that  followest  all  my  way, 

I  yield  my  flickering  torch  to  Thee; 

My  heart  restores  its  borrowed  ray, 

That  in  Thy  sunshine’s  blaze  its  day 
May  brighter,  fairer  be.” 

Down  in  Wall  Street,  in  front  of  the  old  Sub¬ 
treasury  building,  is  the  bas-relief  of  a  man  kneeling 


144 


What  Men  Need  Most 


in  prayer.  His  time  was  one  of  fear  and  darkness. 
The  cause  to  which  he  had  dedicated  his  life,  for 
which  he  had  already  led  brave  men  to  death,  and  in 
which  rested  now  the  hopes  of  freedom  for  all  the 
years,  was  sinking  fast  into  the  night  of  irretrievable 
disaster.  Burdens  too  heavy  to  be  borne  rested  upon 
his  shoulders;  appalling  responsibilities  overwhelmed 
his  soul. 

But  he  did  not  resign;  he  did  not  withdraw.  Bor 
a  moment  he  did  not  go  forward.  It  was  very  dark. 
The  way  had  eluded  him;  and  so  he  stopped,  and 
looked  up,  and  set  his  course  again  by  the  great  Light. 

That  vast  company  of  men  and  women  who  believe 
in  the  God  of  Washington  are  fully  persuaded  that  the 
hope  for  every  disarmament  conference,  faced  as  they 
are  by  problems  of  age-old  antipathies  and  jealousies, 
and  beset  by  traditions,  is  not  in  the  wisdom  of  states¬ 
men,  not  in  the  counsel  of  experts,  but  in  the  Light, 
that  great  Light  that  showed  George  Washington  the 
way  from  Valley  Forge  to  Yorktown,  and  that  guided 
Abraham  Lincoln  from  Gettysburg  to  Appomattox.  It 
is  to  nations  as  well  as  to  individuals  that  He  speaks 
when  He  says, 

“I  am  the  light  of  the  world;  he  that  followeth  me 
shall  not  walk  in  darkness,  but  shall  have  the  light  of 
life.” 


15 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  NEW  CRUSADE 

Text :  II  Timothy  2  :  3.  “Thou  therefore  en¬ 
dure  hardness  as  a  good  soldier  of  Jesus 
Christ ” 

It  was  an  evening  in  early  February,  1918.  I  stood 
with  Canon  Braithwaite  under  the  high  arched  roof 
of  Winchester  Cathedral,  in  the  city  of  Britain’s  early 
kings.  The  venerable  clergyman  lifted  his  torch,  and 
flung  its  beams  among  the  mighty  columns  of  the 
ancient  church.  For  nearly  half  a  century  it  has  been 
his  sacred  charge. 

Choir-boys  were  at  practice  in  an  adjoining  room. 
Their  song  floated  to  us  across  the  twilight,  and  in  my 
fancy  became  the  voices  of  the  sculptured  figures  that 
seemed  to  leave  their  places  in  the  niches  of  the  walls 
and  to  stand  about  us  in  the  air. 

Then  the  Canon  spoke :  “On  the  Forman  tiles  where 
you  stand  to-night,  Crusaders  knelt  to  receive  their  last 
communion.  From  this  holy  place  they  went  forth  to 
cross  the  Channel  and  take  up  their  long  journey 
toward  the  sepulchre  of  Christ.” 

In  a  few  davs  I  had  crossed  the  Channel :  a  few 

v  7 

days  more  and  I  had  seen  the  small  but  rapidly  grow¬ 
ing  army  of  my  country  marching  up  the  battle-roads 
of  France,  entering  communicating  trenches  to  take 
position  in  the  line  that  stood  between  Metz  and  Toul, 

in  the  shadow  of  Mount  Sec. 

145 


146 


Wliat  Men  Need  Most 


And  as  the  lads  in  khaki,  who  had  come  so  far  to 
give  so  much,  took  np  the  great  advance,  I  cried: 
‘‘These  are  crusaders,  too!  These  are  the  knights  of 
the  twentieth  century,  defenders  of  the  faith,  path¬ 
finders  of  the  new  era,  the  era  that,  please  God,  shall 
be  the  Era  of  the  Soul!” 

j\Tow,  all  crusades  have  three  things  in  common: 
first,  a  holy  cause;  second,  a  vast  company  of  youth; 
third,  a  great  consecration. 

Every  crusade  has  demonstrated  the  consecration  of 
a  vast  company  of  youth  to  a  holy  cause.  The  supreme 
ordeal  of  our  tragic  past  has  been  no  exception  to  the 
rule.  Eor  what  a  cause  our  brothers  and  our  sons 
went  forth  to  break  their  lances  upon  the  distant  fields 
of  Europe!  They  journeyed  for  the  rights  of  the 
helpless  and  as  defenders  of  the  weak.  They  rode  to 
crush  the  iron  hand  of  militarism  and  to  end  the  sway 
of  kings.  They  dared  and  died  to  vindicate  the  might 
of  right. 

•  Granted  that  every  great  mass  movement  that  has 
led  civilisation  forward  has  suffered  from  false  leaders, 
selfish  and  traitorous  chiefs;  granted  that  it  has  been 
an  easy  cloak  to  hide  the  ulterior  motives  of  the  baser 
sort ;  but  always,  in  the  large,  it  has  been  unselfish  and 
worthy;  and  in  the  end  it  has  prevailed  because  it  has 
possessed  the  omnipotence  of  truth. 

To-day  we  are  still  perfecting  the  physical  census  of 
our  blood-letting ;  we  are  counting  our  wounded  and 
our  dead.  What  do  we  find?  Millions  of  young  men 
marching  up  from  the  South  and  down  from  the 
E"orth,  out  of  the  East  and  the  West.  Millions  of 
young  men  training  and  battling  and  dying.  Millions 
of  young  men  maimed.  Millions  of  young  men  dead. 

Once  again  the  record  has  shown  that  middle  life 


The  Call  of  the  New  Crusade  147 

and  old  age  do  not  bear  the  physical  burden  of  armed 
conflict.  The  World  War  stands  as  a  stupendous  spec¬ 
tacle  of  youth,  a  spectacle  of  youth  in  a  consecration 
of  limb  and  life  and  soul,  the  like  of  which  the  eyes 
of  the  world  had  never  before  seen,  but  a  consecration 
that,  while  it  began  with  those  who  faced  the  battle’s 
hardness  under  the  flares  of  Xo  Man’s  Land,  in  burn¬ 
ing  sky  and  upon  sinister  sea,  did  not  end  with  them. 

To  these  were  joined  in  a  consecration  as  vital  as 
theirs,  the  mothers  and  fathers  and  wives  and  sisters 
and  brothers  who  brought  the  men  who  fought  as  price¬ 
less  offerings  to  the  altars  of  freedom;  and  who,  turn¬ 
ing  not  away,  held  them  to  their  tasks  in  fidelity  of 
purpose  and  with  unselfishness  of  service  and  sacri¬ 
fice. 

And  when  the  war-clouds  that  even  yet  hang  above 
us  have  all  cleared  away,  this  great  consecration  will 
remain  as  the  chief  compensation  for  the  struggle. 
The  world  has  learned  to  suffer  and  to  give  on  a  scale 
never  before  practised  or  realised;  she  has  learned  to 
suffer  and  give  all. 

Upon  us,  who  were  not  called  upon  to  surrender 
life  rests  a  very  grave  responsibility.  If  we  are  to  be 
worthy  of  the  dead  who  withheld  nothing,  and  if  we 
are  to  finish  the  “sacred  task  undone,”  then  we  must 
make  their  consecration  secure  and  permanent.  It 
will  be  a  tragedy  beyond  comprehension  if  the  spiritual 
values  established  by  that  colossal  struggle  are  lost  or 
obscured.  To  ever  return  to  pre-war  attitudes  and 
relationships,  to  ever  take  up  again  the  mad  race  for 
gold  and  gain  and  arrogant  national  power,  to  think 
once  more  in  terms  of  selfish  individualism,  aloof  na¬ 
tionalism  and  narrow  sectarianism,  will  be  to  strike 
with  palsy  the  arm  we  lifted  for  international  right- 


148 


What  Men  Need  Most 


eousness,  will  be  to  invalidate  the  world’s  investment 
of  blood  and  treasure.  And  it  is  here  that  America 
is  tempted  as  is  no  other  land. 

How  shall  we  hold  the  great  consecration  ?  Let  there 
be  no  evasion  of  the  question.  Only  by  a  new  crusade. 
Ho  mean  or  small  thing  will  attract  those  who  were 
joined  to  the  death-grapple  of  the  bloody  past.  True, 
some  have  found  and  will  follow  the  line  of  least  re¬ 
sistance;  others  will  loll  on  in  ease  and  idleness;  but 
the  vast  company  is  impatient  with  soft  words,  for 
their  souls  have  been  elemental  harps  upon  which  the 
fingers  of  Fate  have  struck  the  chords  of  vast  and 
vicarious  sacrifice. 

A  young  lieutenant  in  a  letter  to  his  father,  written 
from  France  shortly  after  the  signing  of  the  armistice, 
said,  “I  have  learned  one  thing,  father;  having  given 
my  life  to  my  country,  I  can  never  take  my  life  back 
again.” 

William  I.  Grundish,  a  private  of  the  engineers, 
wrote  in  the  trenches,  ‘‘Facing  the  Shadows.”  It  is 
a  classic  that  will  live  beyond  the  brief  span  of  the 
man  who  penned  it. 

“When  I  behold  the  tense  and  tragic  night 

Shrouding  the  earth  in  vague,  symbolic  gloom; 
And  when  I  think  that  ere  my  fancy’s  flight 
Has  reached  the  portals  of  the  inner  room 
Where  knightly  ghosts,  guarding  the  secret  ark 
Of  brave  romance,  through  me  shall  sing  again, 
Death  may  ingulf  me  in  eternal  dark; 

Still  I  have  no  regret  nor  poignant  pain. 

Better  in  one  ecstatic,  epic  day 

To  strike  a  blow  for  glory  and  for  truth, 

With  ardent,  singing  heart  to  toss  away  . 

In  Freedom’s  cause  my  eager  youth, 


149 


The  Call  of  the  New  Crusade 

Than  bear,  as  weary  years  pass  one  by  one, 

The  knowledge  of  a  sacred  task  undone. ” 

To  such  as  these  we  must  address  ourselves,  to  such 
as  these  the  Church  must  speak,  for  into  the  hands  of 
such  as  these  the  programmes  of  society  are  now 
intrusted. 

What  is  the  new  crusade,  the  great  crusade,  that 
shall  hold  from  age  to  age  in  high  and  steadfast  con¬ 
secration  the  world’s  vast  company  of  youth?  It  is 
industrial  and  social,  political  and  religious,  all  of 
these  in  one.  For  us  to  advance  in  divisions,  for  us 
to  go  forward  in  separation,  even  though  we  move  in 
parallel  lines,  will  be  to  fail.  Society  can  vitalise  only 
one  crusade  at  a  time.  For  the  present  crisis,  so  chal¬ 
lenging  to  all  the  worthy  passions  of  the  aroused  hu¬ 
man  heart,  there  must  be  essential  unity  in  spirit  and 
in  action.  And  in  what  shall  we  find  our  unity  \ 

Economically  we  stand  in  violent  divisions.  At  one 
extreme  men  have  been  saying,  “The  war  is  over.  We 
must  hurry  back  to  old  conditions — master  and  man. 
The  concessions  made  by  capital  in  order  that  a  united 
front  be  presented  to  the  common  foe  are  no  longer 
necessary.  We  have  been  too  long  in  re-establishing 
the  old  order.” 

At  the  other  extreme  the  violent  voice  of  the  wilder¬ 
ness  cries  without  ceasing:  “The  millennium  has  come 
to  Eussia.  Let  us  enter  in.” 

Fever  are  we  going  back  to  old  conditions.  Fever 
again  will  it  be  master  and  man.  The  worker  has 
learned  his  human  values.  He  has  eaten  of  the  fruit 
of  the  tree  of  knowledge.  He  has  become  wise.  Up 
from  the  mines  and  out  of  the  factories  he  came  to 
join  the  universal  brotherhood  of  labour  and  suffering. 


150 


What  Men  Need  Most 


He  knew  the  hand  of  the  skilled  surgeon;  he  felt  the 
touch  of  the  trained  nurse.  He  found  himself  to  be 
the  first  essential  in  all  orderly  and  constructive  proc¬ 
esses  of  civilisation. 

Everywhere  he  is  saying  and  will  say  words  like 
these,  words  that  I  heard  first  in  the  Lamb  House, 
London,  early  in  1918,  “Never  again  will  we  consent 
to  the  holding  of  millions  of  acres  of  land  in  the  hands 
of  the  unproducing  few,  while  we  have  no  bit  of 
ground  under  God’s  free  sky.” 

No,  it  will  be  master  and  man  never  again! 

What  of  Russia,  Russia  betrayed  and  crucified  ?  We 
will  not  be  deceived.  She  has  not  found  the  mil¬ 
lennium.  But  let  the  judgments  we  bring  upon  her  now 
be  tempered  by  the  knowledge  of  the  reasons  for  her 
plight.  Her  children  suffer  for  the  sins  of  their 
fathers.  She  is  in  the  grip  of  the  inexorable  law  of 
compensation.  She  reaps  where  she  sowed,  and  it  is 
the  irony  of  fate  that  the  harvesting  hands  must  be 
slashed  by  sword-grass  they  did  not  plant. 

We  will  not  be  deceived,  but  we  shall  be  fools  in¬ 
deed  if  we  refuse  to  learn  the  lessons  Russia  teaches. 
Only  by  fidelity  to  the  principles  that  made  us  a  nation, 
that  established  us  first  in  freedom  and  then  in  unity; 
only  by  continued  loyalty  to  the  rich  guaranties  of  the 
Constitution,  and  by  being  willing  to  interpret  these 
guaranties  so  as  to  meet  the  needs  of  the  new  times 
upon  which  we  have  come,  shall  we  avoid  disaster. 

The  hour  is  one  of  expression  and  not  of  repression. 
Let  no  sudden  panic  tempt  us  to  deny  the  faith  in 
which  we  have  thus  far  prevailed.  Give  Liberty  her 
eyes  and  her  voice,  and  she  will  find  her  way.  Bind 
her,  and  blind  her,  and  she  will  go  mad. 

No,  we  will  not  follow  the  terror  of  the  Steppes; 


The  Call  of  the  New  Crusade  151 

but  bow  shall  we  discover  the  bigb  ground  that  stands 
between  the  quicksands  of  the  two  extremes? 

And  how  shall  we  find  the  spirit  with  which  to 
address  ourselves  to  the  as  yet  unsolved  racial  prob¬ 
lems  of  our  times,  problems  that  have  grown  in  a  gen¬ 
eration  from  snapping  curs  to  sinister  monsters,  prob¬ 
lems  that  threaten  our  domestic  safety  as  well  as  the 
peacefulness  of  our  international  relationships? 

Statesmanship  has  no  answer.  The  whole  political 
horizon  is  black  with  threatening  clouds  of  prejudice 
and  misunderstanding.  Are  we  to  approach  these  mo¬ 
mentous  matters  in  a  spirit  of  selfish  partisanship  ? 
To  be  Republicans  or  Democrats,  to  be  less  than  Ameri¬ 
cans,  now  is  to  be  incompetent;  and  to  save  America 
w e  must  serve  the  world . 

There  is  no  answer  for  the  question  of  society  in  the 
schoolroom  of  economics  alone.  Industrial  reform  is 
inadequate,  and  until  civilisation  shall  find  the  grace 
to  love  the  unlovable  she  will  continue  to  fill  her  streets 
with  lynchers  and  her  seas  with  fleets  of  suspicion. 

God  pity  the  world  if  we  go  forward  now  in  an  in¬ 
dustrial  crusade  and  a  social  crusade  and  a  political 
crusade ;  God  pity  the  world  if  we  move  forward 
divided ! 

There  is  room  and  time  and  strength  for  only  one 
great  forward  movement.  It  must  be  industrial,  social, 
and  political ;  and  Christianity  must  dominate  the 
whole. 

This  is*  Christianity’s  hour.  Christianity  must  find 
the  high  ground  that  stands  between  the  two  extremes, 
that  leads  at  length  in  peace  to  justice  and  brother¬ 
hood.  The  brotherhood  message  of  Jesus,  so  long  re¬ 
served  to  individuals,  must  be  applied  to  governments 
as  well.  “I  am  my  brother’s  keeper” ;  and  by  as  much 


152 


What  Men  Need  Most 


the  state  is  brother  to  the  nations,  and  no  state  has  the 
moral  right  to  exist  free  and  silent  anywhere  while 
another  state  is  bound  by  chains  it  cannot  break. 

Patriotism  begins  at  home;  it  does  not  end  there; 
the  security  of  remoteness  is  now  denied  us ;  the  geog¬ 
raphy  of  distance  has  been  destroyed.  There  are  no 
separating  seas.  The  farthest  tribe  has  become  our 
next-door  neighbour.  We  are  all  hopelessly  bound 
together. 

It  took  a  League  of  Nations  to  win  the  World  War. 
Without  unity  among  the  nations  and  a  working  pro¬ 
gramme  of  agreement  we  cannot  win  the  peace. 

That  there  are  dangers  in  this  new  way;  that  grave 
problems  beset  the  new  order,  will  not  be  denied.  We 
admit  that  in  the  conclusion  of  logic,  and  by  the  record 
of  what  has  gone  before,  there  is  for  us  no  final  evi¬ 
dence,  no  conclusive  testimony.  The  evidence  is,  “the 
evidence  of  things  not  seen.” 

Ours  is  an  adventure  of  faith.  But  we  have  tried 
every  other  road.  We  have  tested  every  other  promise. 
We  have  gone  to  the  end  of  the  trail  with  traditional 
statesmanship  and  we  have  found  there  a  catastrophe 
that  almost  wrecked  man.  Whether  in  desperation  of 
despair,  or  in  the  eagerness  of  hope  new-born,  destiny 
has  spoken,  faith  has  decreed,  and  we  must  give  the 
new  order  a  chance  to  be. 

Perhaps  I  feel  as  I  do  because  I  have  seen  Europe 
a  sepulchre,  because  my  eyes  have  rested  upon  the  fields 
that  lie  before  Verdun  as  thickly  pitted  by  shell-fire 
as  a  man’s  face  is  pitted  from  a  dread  disease,  because 
my  hands  have  dripped  the  blood  of  men  who  died 
against  my  hreast,  or  perhaps  it  is  because  I  have  not 
ceased  to  pray,  “Our  Father  ” 

Such,  then,  is  the  spiritual  basis  for  the  new  cru- 


The  Call  of  the  New  Crusade  153 

sade.  It  lias  no  backward  look.  It  presses  toward 
the  mark  of  the  high  calling,  and  its  voice  cries  might¬ 
ily,  “Be  strong!” 

What,  then,  of  youth,  the  stalwart  full-grown  and 
morally  seasoned  now,  who  bore  so  large  a  part  in  the 
stupendous  struggle,  and  what  of  these  others  who  fol¬ 
low  in  his  train  ?  In  the  programme  of  Christianity,  in 
the  challenge  of  Christ,  here  and  nowhere  else  does  he 
find  his  adequate  incentive,  his  task  big  enough,  his 
moral  equivalent  for  war. 

Youth,  which  is  thy  darling? 

Dull  ease,  tame  prosperity,  craven  safety? 

Or  Danger,  strong  young  danger,  clean-limbed  danger, 
Brave-hearted  danger  ? 

State,  wouldst  thou  win  youth  unto  thy  service? 

Call  him  not  then  with  rich  emoulments  and  pomp  of 
office, 

But  dare  him,  rather,  to  risk  his  fortune, 

To  burn  behind  him  the  bridges  of  mammon, 

And,  toil  and  pain  and  loss  and  death  embracing, 

To  win  for  thee  thy  glorious  future. 

Church,  wouldst  thou  win  youth  unto  thy  service  ? 
Call  him  not  with  plaintive  music  and  soothing  sermon ; 
Invite  him  not  with  sectarian  difference; 

Xever  for  him  expunge  and  soften  the  words  of  Jesus; 
But  gird  on  him  the  sword  and  buckler, 

And  send  him  forth  with  trumpet  sounding 
The  call  of  Christ’s  crusade. 

This  is  youth’s  darling: 

Not  ease,  nor  comfort,  nor  tame  prosperity,  nor  craven 
safetv. 

i / 

But  Danger — strong  young  danger,  clean-limbed  dan¬ 
ger, 

Brave-hearted  danger. 


16 


THE  CURSE  OF  COWARDICE 

Text:  St.  Mask  14:  71.  “He  began  to  curse 
and  to  swear ,  saying,  I  know  not  this  man  of 
whom  ye  speak  ” 

The  heaviest  blow  suffered  by  Jesus  on  the  day  He 
stood  before  the  high  priest  was  not  the  one  struck  by 
the  officer  of  the  court;  it  was  the  denial  of  Peter. 

The  Master  who  gave  His  life  rather  than  renounce 
the  truth,  who  swerved  not  an  inch  from  exact  honesty 
Himself,  found  one  of  His  own  and  closest  companions 
at  the  first  approach  of  the  great  crisis  toward  which 
His  entire  ministry  had  moved  from  the  beginning, 
fleeing  like  a  craven.  It  was  as  though  a  veteran  of 
many  training-camps  and  numerous  skirmishes  had 
galloped  to  the  rear  at  the  first  roar  of  artillery  when 
the  main  battle  opened. 

And  what  must  have  been  the  remorse  of  Peter 
when  he  came  to  himself, — no  man  can  imagine  it. 
Only  the  grace  of  the  One  against  whom  he  had  sinned 
saved  the  impetuous  disciple  from  permanent  disgrace 
and  perhaps  self-destruction.  But  as  quick  as  was  the 
wrong,  so  quick  were  the  penitence  and  the  call  for 
forgiveness  when  by  the  crowing  of  the  cock  Peter  was 
faced  by  his  cowardly  rejection. 

What  is  the  curse  of  cowardice?  The  curse  of 

cowardice  is  falsehood.  The  coward  is  a  lie.  It  is 

possible  for  a  coward  to  speak  words  that  are  in  them- 

154 


155 


The  Curse  of  Cowardice 

selves  true, — a  craven  lias  lifted  the  sword  of  a  hero, 
hut  it  is  not  possible  for  a  coward  to  be  true.  Truth 
casteth  out  fear;  where  one  is,  the  other  is  not. 

The  curse  of  cowardice  is  selfishness.  Peter  feared 
for  his  own  safety.  Jesus  was  the  victim  of  power, 
power  that  could,  as  Peter  saw  it,  crush  Him.  To  save 
his  own  life,  Peter  said  “Ho”  to  his  best  friend. 

The  curse  of  cowardice  is  cruelty.  Peter’s  denial 
caused  Jesus  to  suffer  as  no  weapon-thrust  could  have. 

The  curse  of  cowardice  is  shame.  A  shamed  man 
is  indeed  a  hapless  fellow.  One  may  rise  from  a  hun¬ 
dred  defeats  with  strength  of  soul  increased,  but  the 
man  who  must  despise  himself  is  without  hope. 

The  curse  of  cowardice  is  defeat.  There  is  never 
an  excuse  for  failure.  A  man  may  fail  completely  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world,  just  as  Jesus  did,  and  yet  glori¬ 
ously  succeed.  Peal  success  is  spiritual,  and  may  or 
may  not  be  crowned  outwardly.  Fundamentally  the 
coward  is  always  and  altogether  a  failure.  He  may 
silence  criticism  for  the  moment;  he  may  even  drive 
an  army  from  the  field  when  he  is  conscious  of  over¬ 
whelming  odds;  but  his  defeat  is  inevitable,  for  it  is 
within  him. 

To  sum  up:  All  cowardice  is  moral  cowardice. 
There  are  physical  giants  who  are  moral  cowards,  but 
they  are  physical  cowards  too  invariably  in  a  great 
crisis.  Men  frail  and  of  little  brawn,  who  with  su¬ 
preme  self-denial  face  some  Waterloo  of  the  soul, 
would  have  gone  as  quietly  to  destruction  on  a  battle¬ 
field. 

The  man  who  in  a  sudden  rush  of  terror  when  under 
fire  for  the  first  time  turns  and  flees  may  or  may  not 
be  a  coward.  If  not,  he  will  come  back  to-morrow  with 
the  determination  of  a  dozen  ordinary  men. 


156 


What  Men  Need  Most 


Peter  denied  quickly .  We  must  prepare  to  make 
prompt  decisions,  to  say  “Yes”  or  “Ho”  quickly. 
Such  preparation  is  heart-preparation.  There  was  no 
time  for  Peter  to  argue  with  himself  when  he  was 
asked  as  to  his  discipleship.  Had  his  heart  been  right, 
right  as  it  was  a  little  later,  his  “Yes”  would  have 
been  as  quick  and  resolute  as  was  his  “Ho.” 

He  repeated  his  denial.  Once  started  in  the  wrong 
direction,  it  is  easier  to  go  on  than  it  is  to  go  back. 
Peter  fixed  his  course  with  his  first  “Ho,”  and  the 
second  and  third  denials  were  in  the  line  of  least 
resistance.  We  should  have  a  care  for  each  step  taken, 
each  decision  made,  not  only  because  of  immediate 
values,  but  because  of  the  effect  of  present  actions  on 
future  conduct. 

Peter  became  angry ,  and  he  swore.  Elsewhere  in 
the  Bible  appears  the  record  that  when  the  servant 
maid  insisted  that  he  was  a  disciple  of  Jesus,  Peter 
used  an  oath  to  emphasise  his  denial.  It  is  human 
nature  to  bluster  when  one  is  caught  in  a  compromis¬ 
ing  position;  to  make  a  loud  noise  in  lieu  of  an  argu¬ 
ment,  to  shout  in  a  vain  effort  to  drown  the  quieter 
voice  of  reason.  An  oath  is  always  an  apology  for  good 
sense.  The  profane  man  is  generally  a  puppet  or  a 
weakling.  A  curse  is  the  blunderbuss  of  a  coward. 

Peter  repented.  There  are  many  who  deny  as  Peter 
did;  and  for  those  the  example  of  this  vigorous,  im¬ 
petuous  man  is  most  heartening.  He  was  sorry  for  his 
sin,  ashamed  of  his  cowardice;  and  he  was  more,  he 
was  repentant.  He  did  not  go  on  in  his  evil  way,  and 
he  did  not  follow  the  example  of  Judas: — he  did  not 
slay  himself.  Like  a  man  he  right-about  faced,  con¬ 
fessed  his  error,  and  sought  forgiveness.  Ho  one  of 
us  need  be  discouraged,  utterly  dismayed.  We  too 


The  Curse  of  Cowardice  157 

have  the  privilege  of  turning  back  from  sinful  wan¬ 
derings. 

Peter  was  forgiven.  Jesus  Christ  can  make  the 
weak  strong,  the  sinful  pure,  the  coward  brave.  This 
is  the  great  lesson  we  may  learn  from  Peter.  Just  as 
it  is  “Christ  in  us  the  hope  of  glory,’7  so  it  is  the  Son 
of  God  who  “casteth  out  fear.”  Xo  Christian  has 
reason  to  be  afraid,  and  the  follower  of  the  Lord  ought 
to  be  everywhere,  in  all  circumstances,  the  “bravest 
of  the  brave.” 


17 


“COME  ON  !  LET’S  GO  !”  * 

Text:  St.  John  14:31.  “Arise,  let  us  go 
hence ” 

At  an  International  Conference  of  Christian  En- 
deavourers,  the  words  which  serve  as  the  subject  of  this 
chapter  were  adopted  as  a  slogan  and  rallying-call  for 
a  new  forward  campaign. 

They  came,  of  course,  with  all  the  patriotic  associa¬ 
tions  of  the  great  war  in  which  youth  played  so  large 
a  part.  TJpon  the  platform  when  the  slogan  was  sug¬ 
gested  were  men  in  uniform  only  recently  returned 
from  overseas,  and  the  speaker  who  first  used  it  had 
himself  heard  the  words  under  all  the  stern  circum¬ 
stances  of  armed  conflict. 

“Come  on!  Let’s  go!”  Perhaps  no  other  words 
were  so  expressive  as  these  of  the  spirit  of  the  ranks 
in  the  bloody  times  now  happily  gone.  They  were 
slang  before  the  war,  but  in  the  war  they  were  glori¬ 
fied.  They  were  part  of  the  great  fusing  process  that 
brought  men  and  women  of  all  grades  and  classes  to¬ 
gether  in  one  great  purpose.  They  belonged  to  officers 
and  doughboys  alike ;  they  were  among  the  most 
dynamic  words  of  the  service.  They  were  heard  in 
canteens  and  in  Y.  M.  C.  A.  huts  as  “buddies”  starting 
for  their  billets  called  to  each  other ;  they  were  the  easy 

*  This  sermon  and  the  three  following  were  preached  as  a  series 
entitled,  “Sermons  from  the  Service.” 

158 


“Conne  On!  Let’s  Go!” 


159 


words  of  rest-camps  and  replacement-stations ;  and  they 
were  the  stern  and  fateful  words  that  broke  the  agony 
of  suspense  for  men  who  had  waited  for  the  zero  hour 
and  the  charge. 

At  three  o’clock  one  February  morning  during  the 
intensive  fire  that  preceded  the  great  raid  upon  bat¬ 
talion  headquarters  at  Seicheprey,  a  runner  from  a  bat¬ 
tery  of  the  Fifth  Field  Artillery,  then  in  support  of 
the  First  Division,  which  was  holding  the  famous  Toul 
sector,  plunged  into  a  dugout  canteen ;  straight  through 
the  double  gas  curtains  he  came,  and  on  into  the 
adjoining  room  where  forty-seven  worn-out  men  were 
sleeping  in  the  stupor  of  exhaustion  that  even  artil¬ 
lery  fire  does  not  disturb.  A  battery  had  been  hit, 
hard  hit;  fresh  men  were  needed  for  cannon-fodder. 

Presently  a  sergeant,  followed  by  one,  two,  three, 
four,  five,  lads,  stumbled  out  of  the  quarters.  Swiftly, 
while  yet  in  the  grip  of  sleep,  they  adjusted  their 
accoutrements,  and  then  lined  up  in  front  of  the 
counter  for  the  hot  coffee  that  was  waiting  for  them. 
Another  minute,  and  they  were  ready.  The  sergeant 
shot  a  quick  word  or  two  at  the  runner,  who  had  come 
fast  and  was  spent,  ran  his  eyes  appraisingly  over  the 
privates  in  front  of  him,  and  then  leaped  into  the 
narrow  entrance  with  two  words  barked  from  his  lips, 
“Let’s  go!”  And  out  into  the  storm  and  dark  and 
death  five  men  followed  him. 

To-night,  as  again  I  see  them  go,  I  think  of  twelve 
men  who  have  been  seated  together  in  a  quiet  chamber, 
set  hack  from  the  noises  of  an  Eastern  city, — twelve 
men  who  have  known  much  of  hardship  and  bitterness 
together,  twelve  men;  there  had  been  one  more,  but 
already  he  had  gone  out.  Under  the  magic  of  their 
leader’s  words  and  presence  eleven  men  had  forgotten 


160 


What  Men  Need  Most 


all  of  their  trials  and  disappointments;  from  the  stern 
facts  of  their  lives  they  had  passed  to  dreams  of  power, 
and  their  captain’s  warnings  are  for  the  moment  little 
understood. 

Then  abruptly  he  terminates  the  conference ;  suiting 
his  words  to  action,  he  says,  “Arise,  let  us  go  hence” ; 
and  forth  he  leads  them  to  Gethsemane  and  Calvary. 

It  is  a  far  call  from  the  first  century  of  the  Chris¬ 
tian  era  to  the  twentieth,  and  a  yet  farther  call  from 
Jerusalem  to  Toul,  from  the  programme  of  the  Prince 
of  Peace  to  the  bloody  doings  of  the  great  war.  But 
for  me  the  words  of  the  sergeant  spoken  in  the  noisome 
dugout  are  forever  and  inseparably  associated  with  the 
words  of  Jesus  in  the  upper  room,  “Let’s  go,”  and 
“Arise,  let  us  go  hence.”  LTor  will  I  rest  quietly  under 
the  charge,  should  any  one  be  so  blind  as  not  to  see  my 
purpose,  that  thus  to  relate  the  two  is  to  misrepresent 
my  Lord,  is  to  give  His  sanction  to  armed  conflict. 

The  words  of  the  sergeant  spoken  as  he  plunged  into 
the  dark  stairway  of  that  front  line  cellar  four  years 
ago  have  three  implications  in  common  with  the  words 
of  Jesus. 

They  were  a  clear  and  unmistakable  call  to  men  to 
leave  their  present  position;  to  turn  their  backs  upon 
rest  and  safety;  comfort  and  comrades;  and  to  go  out 
into  darkness  and  danger.  The  tired  fellows  who 
jammed  their  helmets  down  upon  their  heads  that 
morning  in  the  old  Y.  M.  C.  A.  canteen  had  earned 
their  night  of  rest,  earned  it  in  the  snow  and  mud  of 
caving  trenches ;  but  the  sergeant  said,  “Let’s  go,”  and 
they  went. 

When  Jesus  spoke  to  His  eleven  disciples  in  the 
upper  room  of  Jerusalem,  His  words  meant  vastly 
more  than  any  hearer  dreamed;  they  were  the  fateful 


“Come  On!  Let's  Go f* 


161 


call  to  leave  the  old  life  forever;  the  old  life  with  its 
bitter  but  with  its  sweet;  the  old  life  with  its  rich 
companionship,  with  its  conversations  as  congenial 
men  walked  together  through  the  restful  open  places 
of  the  hack  country;  with  evenings  spent  with  friends, 
its  ministry  of  comfort  and  healing  when  the  great 
Physician  placed  His  physical  hands  upon  the  heads 
of  the  sick  and  distressed;  the  old  life  with  its  Mount 
of  Transfiguration  and  its  triumphal  entry;  the  old 
life  with  its  moments  of  glory. 

From  all  of  this  He  said,  “ Arise,  let  us  go  hence”; 
and  from  the  old  life  which  had  found  Him  so  often 
the  misunderstood  and  maligned,  which  had  left  Him 
hungry  and  homeless  before  the  gates  of  unfriendly 
cities,  which  had  stamped  Him  with  the  mark  of  shame 
and  held  Him  up  to  ridicule  and  scorn,  which  had  set 
the  people  He  loved  against  Him,  and  turned  fol¬ 
lowers  into  traitors;  the  old  life  of  Nazareth  and  Beth¬ 
lehem,  of  Bethany  and  Galilee,  of  Capernaum  and 
Samaria  and  Jerusalem,  of  weary  feet  and  hungry 
soul, — the  old  life  was  now  forever  behind  Him;  from 
it  He  was  turning  deliberately  away. 

The  second  implication  follows  naturally  the  first. 
The  men  who  hurried  out  of  the  dugout  on  the  old 
Toul  sector  that  winter  morning  left  it  not  in  retreat, 
but  to  go  forward.  The  words  used  by  the  sergeant 
were  never  words  of  retreat.  “Let’s  go”  meant  always, 
and  whatever  the  risks  and  the  odds,  “Let’s  go  on,  and 
on,  and  on!” 

Years  ago  I  heard  a  story  of  a  drummer  boy  of  Na¬ 
poleon  who,  wounded  and  dying,  had  been  propped 
against  the  caisson  of  a  broken  gun  by  his  solicitous 
but  on-hurrying  comrades.  At  length  the  tide  of 
battle  turned  against  France.  Back  came  the  broken 


162 


What  Men  Need  Most 


squares  in  precipitous  flight.  A  marshal  saw  the  lad, 
who  seemed  asleep,  and  shook  him  roughly.  “Beat 
the  retreat!”  he  cried.  “Beat  the  retreat!”  The 
boy’s  eyes  fluttered  open,  closed,  and  fluttered  open 
again.  In  surprise  he  looked  about;  and  then,  becom¬ 
ing  conscious  of  the  rout,  he  replied:  “Sir,  I  cannot 
beat  a  retreat.  I  do  not  know  how  to  beat  a  retreat. 
Desaix  never  taught  me  how.  But  I  can  beat  a  charge 
that  will  call  the  dead  to  life.  I  beat  the  charge  at 
the  Pyramids.  I  beat  it  at  Mt.  Tabor  and  the  Bridge 
of  Lodi.  Sir,  shall  I  beat  it  now?”  The  fire  in  the 
soul  of  the  dying  boy  touched  into  flame  again  the 
failing  embers  in  the  heart  of  the  marshal,  and  he 
shouted,  “Then,  hero  child  of  Prance,  beat  the 
charge.”  And  over  the  dead  and  dying,  over  the  can¬ 
non  and  artillery,  the  lad  propped  against  the  broken 
gun,  his  own  life-blood  ebbing  fast,  drummed  the  way 
to  victory. 

Often  in  the  great  war  men  did  not  know  what  their 
destination  was,  nor  had  they  seen  before  the  rugged 
path  their  feet  must  climb,  the  dangers  their  courage 
must  dare.  But  always  they  knew  that  “Let’s  Gro” 
meant  straight  ahead,  forward  march. 

Returning  from  France  I  found  myself  on  the  same 
ship  with  a  group  of  Red  Cross  officials,  among  them 
Mr.  Abner  Larned,  a  public-spirited  and  distinguished 
business  man  of  Detroit.  Prom  him  I  heard  for  the 
first  time  what  is  now  one  of  the  finest  stories  of  the 
war.  Mr.  Larned  was  on  the  Tuscania  when  she  was 
destroyed  by  a  submarine  ofi  the  coast  of  Ireland. 
Rescued  by  the  crew  of  a  destroyer,  he  kept  to  the 
deck  while  the  swift  scout  of  the  sea  rushed  hither  and 
thither  through  the  gathering  darkness,  searching  for 
the  remaining  survivors. 


“Come  On!  Let's  Go f* 


163 


When  the  quest  was  about  to  be  abandoned,  off  the 
starboard  quarter  singing  was  heard.  Immediately  the 
little  vessel  set  her  course  by  the  sound;  and,  coming 
on  carefully  through  the  gloom,  discovered  a  catamaran 
crowded  with  soldiers  who  were  singing  at  the  top  of 
their  youthful  lungs,  “Where  do  we  go  from  here, 
boys?  Where  do  we  go  from  here?”  Adrift  upon  a 
winter  sea,  helpless  and  freezing,  with  little  hope  of 
rescue,  their  hearts  were  strong,  and  still  responded  to 
the  marching-orders  of  their  country’s  great  advance. 

And  when  Jesus  led  His  disciples  down  from  the 
J erusalem  conference  into  the  night  and  on  toward  the 
Garden,  whatever  may  have  been  His  knowledge,  hu¬ 
manly  speaking,  of  the  ordeal  that  was  before  Him, 
His  companions  were  in  ignorance  of  the  tragedy  so 
soon  to  follow.  They  were  under  marching-orders, 
and  they  were  going  forward;  this  they  knew,  for 
always  He  led  them  forward;  but  they  saw  only  the 
next  step;  the  great  events  of  the  future  were  hidden 
from  them,  and  well  it  was !  And  well  it  is  for  us  that 
life  is  not  at  once  a  complete  revelation.  Were  we 
in  possession  of  the  facts,  our  faith  would  often  fail. 
Better  for  us  the  command,  “Arise  and  go,”  with  the 
terms  and  conditions  of  our  going  sealed  orders  to  be 
opened  in  the  morning. 

“I  do  not  ask  to  see  the  distant  scene, 

One  step  enough  for  me.” 

The  third  implication  is  the  implication  of  leader¬ 
ship;  leadership  that  leads,  that  discovers  the  path  and 
shows  the  way,  that  sets  the  pace  and  shares  the  dan¬ 
gers;  a  leadership  that  is  companionship  as  well  as 
command.  It  was  not,  “You  go,”  that  early  morning 


164 


What  Men  Need  Most 


in  the  cellar.  It  was  “Let’s  go.”  And,  as  I  saw  the 
last  man  of  the  six  pass  through  the  gas  curtains,  I 
knew  that  the  sergeant  who  went  up  first  would  never 
have  been  anywhere  else  than  in  front  of  the  men  he 
was  taking  into  mortal  danger. 

And  it  was  Jesus,  not  Peter,  nor  James  nor  John, 
who  said,  “Arise,  let  us  go  hence.”  It  was  Jesus  who 
led  the  little  company  across  the  brook  Kidron;  it 
was  Jesus  who  after  the  last  disciple  had  been  left  to 
slumber  in  forgetfulness  at  the  edge  of  Gethsemane 
went  yet  a  little  farther.  Always  it  was  J esus  who  led 
the  way;  and,  whatever  men  may  say  of  Him,  they 
will  not  say  that  He  sent  His  followers  forth  alone, 
or  that  He  thrust  them  into  dangers  He  Himself  re¬ 
fused  to  accept. 

How  suggestively  eloquent  are  His  words,  “Arise, 
let  us  go  hence,”  and  how  illuminating  His  “Come 
with  me;  come  with  me!” 

These  words  are  more  than  the  words  of  an  ancient 
invitation;  they  are  the  call  of  Jesus  Christ  to  every 
man  and  woman,  His  call  to  you  and  me.  To  us  He 
is  saying,  “Arise,  let  us  go!”  Let  us  leave  the  past 
behind.  Let  us  go  forth  from  the  evil  or  unworthy 
surroundings  of  our  lives,  and  press  toward  the  better 
things,  toward  the  heights  of  happiness,  toward  the 
mark  of  the  high  calling  which  is  in  Christ  Jesus. 

Are  you  living  an  unclean  and  a  sinful  life,  a  double 
life,  a  life  of  which  you  are  sick,  a  life  of  broken 
vows,  a  life  of  wrongs  against  another  ?  Arise  and  go ! 

Are  you  living  short  of  your  best,  unworthy  of  your 
own  ambitions  and  of  the  hopes  of  those  who  love  and 
trust  you;  living  indolently,  slovenly;  living  merely 
to  fill  the  hours  ?  Arise  and  go ! 

Are  you  living  in  fear, — fear  of  discovery,  fear  of 


“Come  On!  Let's  Go!" 


1 65 


disease,  fear  of  defeat,  fear  of  death  ?  Are  yon  living 
selfishly,  successfully,  even  brilliantly,  but  for  your¬ 
self  alone,  dancing  to  the  music  of  indulgence,  chasing 
the  short-lived  butterfly  of  pleasure?  Do  not  delay, 
but  arise!  Arise  and  go! 

Are  you  living  with  your  losses  and  your  griefs, 
holding  the  broken  vessels  of  memory,  dwelling  with 
your  vanished  joys  in  yesterday?  Arise,  and  go! 

Are  you  living  with  doubts,— doubt  of  God  and 
doubt  of  good,  doubt  of  friends,  and  doubt  of  your¬ 
self  ? 

Are  you  living  in  the  uncertainty  of  delayed  deci¬ 
sions,  in  the  enervating  atmosphere  of  procrastination ; 
living  in  promises  which  should  long  since  have  become 
programmes  ?  If  you  are,  if  you  are,  arise  and  go ! 

Leave  where  you  are,  and  start  for  where  you  ought 
to  be.  Turn  from  your  secret  sin,  your  pet  indulgence ; 
turn  from  your  shame,  turn  from  your  griefs,  your 
self-pity  and  complaint;  rise  from  the  ashes  of  your 
losses;  take  up  again  the  task  your  bravest  hopes  once 
fixed  upon.  Put  out  the  fires  of  your  rest-camp,  and 
forward  march ! 

And,  as  you  go,  remember  that  before  you  started, 
that  before  you  gave  attention  to  His  words  and  heeded 
the  command,  that  before  you  rose  to  go,  He  rose  to 
go  before  you.  The  forward-leading  road  is  often  dark 
and  full  of  unanticipated  mysteries,  but  it  will  be  light 
unto  your  feet,  for  He  is  the  lamp  of  its  way. 

For  “yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil,  for  thou  art  with 
me ;  thy  rod  and  thy  staff,  they  comfort  me.” 


18 

“LAFAYETTE,  WE  ARE  HERE!”* 

Text:  Ecclesiastes  11:1.  “Cast  thy  bread 
upon  the  waters ,  for  thou  shalt  find  it  after 
many  days  ” 

Whether  General  Pershing  actually  used  the  words 
as  attributed  to  him  or  not,  or  whether  they  represent 
the  genius  for  the  eternal  fitness  of  things  of  some 
newspaper  correspondent,  “Lafayette,  we  are  here,” 
more  eloquently  than  any  other  words,  signalised 
America’s  entry  into  the  war.  They  were  words  that 
gave  a  reason  and  interpreted  a  spirit,  words  that  the 
humblest  man  in  the  ranks  quickly  understood,  words 
the  significance  of  which  did  not  escape  the  most  casual 
reader  of  American  history. 

“Lafayette,  we  are  here,” — here  to  pay  a  debt,  or, 
rather,  here  to  return  in  kind  service  for  service  ren¬ 
dered;  here  in  what,  with  all  else  that  it  represents 
and  means,  is  a  supreme  expression  of  appreciation  for 
the  great  and  generous  young  Frenchman  who  was  one 
of  the  brightest  lights  that  shone  in  the  darkest  night 
of  the  Revolution. 

The  cynical  times  in  which  we  live  have  produced 
jazz  in  literature  as  well  as  in  music,  and.  some  of  the 
fairest  stories  and  finest  traditions  of  a  nation’s  life 
are  reset  and  revised  until  for  the  reverence  with 

*  Sermon  preached  on  Lincoln’s  Birthday. 

166 


167 


" Lafayette ,  We  Are  Here!” 

which  they  were  once  received  is  substituted  a  satirical 
familiarity,  a  superficial  and  disgusting  half-tolerance. 
George  Washington,  Benjamin  Franklin,  Thomas  Jef¬ 
ferson,  Patrick  Henry,  Ulysses  S.  Grant,  and  Abraham 
Lincoln, — Lincoln  who  long  escaped  the  common  fate, 
— have  all  been  victims  of  these  panderers  in  print, 
who  cultivate  and  feed  the  jaded  and  neurotic  literary 
appetite. 

The  Marquis  de  Lafayette  has  not  been  spared.  But 
what  is  the  story,  the  real  story,  memories  of  which 
sent  waves  of  emotion  over  the  nation  when  “La¬ 
fayette,  we  are  here,”  was  flashed  under  the  oceans 
and  across  the  continents? 

Lafayette  was  a  youth  of  nineteen  when  he  came  to 
throw  in  his  lot  with  the  Continentals;  he  was  horn 
of  a  distinguished  line,  the  son  of  a  soldier  killed  in 
the*  service  of  France.  At  a  military  dinner  in  Metz 
early  in  1776  the  generous  impulses  of  his  heart  were 
first  stirred  by  the  story  of  the  American  Revolution. 
He  was  a  young  officer  of  the  Guards,  and  under 
orders;  but  he  determined  to  join  the  forces  of  Wash¬ 
ington.  On  being  ordered  back  by  the  French  king, 
when  he  was  about  to  sail  from  a  Spanish  port,  he 
seemed  at  first  to  acquiesce  in  his  sovereign’s  orders, 
but  later  escaped,  and  with  Baron  de  Kalb  and  others 
sailed  hurriedly  for  America  in  an  uncompleted  ship. 
He  was  received  by  Congress  with  open  arms,  and  for 
him  Washington  formed  a  high  and  most  affectionate 
opinion,  which  he  never  ceased  to  hold.  When  in¬ 
trigue  had  reached  its  depths  and  the  great  commander 
cried  out  that  he  wished  every  foreigner  back  in  Eu¬ 
rope,  he  concluded,  “Excepting  Marquis  de  Lafayette.” 

While  the  commission  of  major-general  voted  the 
young  Frenchman  was  hardly  warranted,  he  never 


168 


What  Men  Need  Most 


proved  himself  unworthy,  nor  did  any  man  use  his 
honours  more  effectively  for  the  struggling  people 
whose  representatives  bestowed  them.  Where  other 
officers,  native  as  well  as  foreign,  failed  in  the  field  or 
were  false  to  the  trust  of  their  leader,  Lafayette  gave 
an  unbroken  example  of  loyalty  as  well  as  of  bril¬ 
liancy.  At  Brandywine,  where  he  was  wounded,  he 
led  his  men  with  distinction,  and  at  Valley  Forge, 
where  his  command  on  Barren  Hill  was  attacked  by 
the  enemy  in  overwhelming  numbers,  he  demonstrated 
his  ability  when  on  the  defensive. 

In  1779  he  returned  to  France  to  add  his  voice  to 
the  plea  for  additional  help  from  France,  now  also  at 
war  with  England.  In  1780  he  returned  to  America, 
successful,  and  was  at  once  sent  to  meet  Benedict  Ar¬ 
nold,  who  was  invading  Virginia.  From  his  private 
purse  Lafayette  provisioned  and  clothed  his  men,  and 
plunged  into  a  campaign  that  did  not  end  until  Corn¬ 
wallis,  the  boaster,  surrendered  at  Yorktown.  Edward 
Everett  has  spoken  eloquently  of  the  youthful  Marquis 
as  he  led  personally  one  of  the  assaults  in  this  fateful 
siege  of  the  war.  Having  returned  to  France  again, 
Lafayette  learned  of  the  successful  termination  of  the 
Revolution,  at  Cadiz,  where  he  had  put  in  with  a  force 
of  26,000  men  he  was  leading  to  reinforce  Washing¬ 
ton. 

Lafayette  made  two  more  visits  to  the  country  he 
had  so  generously  served,  and  was  entertained  as  the 
guest  of  the  nation.  On  the  first,  in  1784,  he  was  with 
Washington  at  Mt.  Vermon,  and  on  the  second,  forty 
years  later,  he  covered  the  country  in  a  tour  of  tri¬ 
umph. 

The  services  of  Lafayette  to  his  own  country,  while 
they  did  not  reveal  him  as  a  successful  political  leader 


“Lafayette,  We  Are  Here!” 


169 


and  administrator  in  great  and  complicated  issues,  con¬ 
tinued  to  present  him  as  a  sincere  lover  of  democracy, 
a  gallant  defender  of  the  persecuted,  and  an  unfailing 
servant  of  the  people. 

Under  the  constitutional  monarchy  which  preceded 
the  French  Revolution,  he  was  commander-in-chief  of 
the  National  Guard,  which  enrolled  more  than  three 
million  men.  It  was  Lafayette  who  suggested  the  sub¬ 
stitution  of  the  tricolour  for  the  old  standard  of 
royalty.  Always  he  was  against  the  imperial  ambi¬ 
tions  of  Uapoleon.  He  advocated  trial  by  jury,  popu¬ 
lar  representation,  emancipation  of  the  slaves,  free¬ 
dom  of  the  press,  abolition  of  titles  (and  renounced  his 
own),  the  suppression  of  privileged  orders,  and  free¬ 
dom  of  worship ;  and  he  incurred  the  undying  hatred 
of  the  Jacobins  by  his  defence  of  the  Protestants.  His 
head  was  demanded  by  the  Revolution,  and  he  escaped, 
only  to  be  arrested  by  Austria  and  imprisoned  for  five 
years,  first  in  Austria  and  then  in  Prussia. 

Than  Marquis  de  Lafayette,  Citizen  Lafayette  by  his 
own  choice,  no  man  has  ever  appeared  in  public  life 
who  manifested  nobler  instincts  and  finer  courage. 
His  contribution  to  America  can  hardly  be  over¬ 
estimated.  More  than  the  men  and  arms  he  finally 
brought,  more  than  the  money  he  contributed  so  freely 
and  largely,  more  than  the  very  considerable  value  of 
his  military  leadership,  was  the  weight  of  his  moral 
and  spiritual  decision,  which  strengthened  the  morale 
of  the  Colonists  when  faith  had  found  her  anchors 
dragging  in  the  storm. 

Hot  much  of  similaritv  is  there  between  this  youth- 
ful  devotee  of  freedom,  who  sprang  from  the  loins  of 
Old-World  aristocracy,  and  the  gaunt  and  at  times 
uncouth  Abraham  Lincoln,  whose  birth  the  world  re- 


170 


What  Men  Need  Most 


members  with  us.  But  one  thing  they  had  in  common, 
— the  passion  for  truth,  which,  when  it  fires  the  human 
soul,  melts  down  the  gold  of  feudal  crowns  and  burns 
up  the  superficial  barriers  of  classes. 

Lafayette  and  Lincoln  brought  their  talents,  brought 
their  all,  to  the  same  altar  of  service. 

One  was  a  very  gallant,  a  very  generous,  gentleman ; 
a  Frenchman  who  loved  freedom  so  unselfishly  that  he 
became  a  citizen  of  the  world:  the  other,  the  saviour 
of  his  country,  who  because  of  his  suffering  and  his 
service,  who  because  of  his  attributes  of  mind  and 
heart,  which  in  him  assumed  proportions  unsurpassed, 
unreached,  since  Jesus,  became  a  man  for  the  ages. 

There  is  a  story  told  of  a  youthful  prince  who  was 
sent  in  quest  of  the  most  wonderful  thing  in  the  world. 
He  came  early  to  a  valley  in  which  bloomed  an  exqui¬ 
site  flower.  Entranced  by  its  perfect  symmetry,  its 
delicate  colouring,  and  its  intoxicating  aroma,  he  de¬ 
clared  his  search  ended,  and  lay  down  to  sleep.  When 
he  awoke,  he  found  himself  beside  a  withered  stalk 
that  gave  forth  noisome  odours. 

Disappointed,  he  went  on  his  way.  How  his  journey 
led  him  to  the  heights.  Above  him  towered  the  mon¬ 
arch  of  the  mountains,  snow-clad,  ice-crowned,  and 
robed  in  mists  shot  through  with  flaming  gold,  poured 
down  from  rivers  of  the  sun.  His  soul  took  on  a  mood 
of  exaltation.  “O  most  sublime,  most  wonderful,  art 
thou!57  he  cried.  But  even  as  he  spoke,  the  ranges 
shook  beneath  him;  great  thunders  rolled;  the  lights 
went  out  on  the  peaks;  and  darkness  came  like  death. 
The  hidden  furies  of  the  inner  earth  broke  forth ;  they 
poured  their  liquid  wrath  down  all  the  frozen  steeps; 
they  clove  the  summit  from  its  base  to  its  crown,  and 
hurled  its  granite  breast  upon  the  cities  of  the  plain. 


“Lafayette,  We  'Are  Here!”  171 

The  voices  of  the  dying  came  like  sounds  from  many 
waters,  on  the  rushing  winds. 

The  prince  in  horror  sank  upon  the  crumbling  path ; 
his  voice  was  dumb;  his  limbs  refused  his  will;  he 
waited  for  his  end.  Then  strong  arms  lifted  him. 
When  he  awoke,  the  night  of  wrath  had  passed.  He 
lay  again  beside  the  withered  stalk  and  in  the  distance 
the  shattered  mountain  raised  its  humbled  head.  But 
he  was  not  alone.  By  his  side  now  stood  a  man,  clean¬ 
limbed  and  golden-haired,  deep-chested  and  broad  of 
shoulders ;  his  eyes  were  as  the  eagle’s,  direct,  piercing, 
and  far-seeing;  his  forehead  broad;  his  head  of  great 
proportions;  and,  when  he  smiled,  the  earth  seemed 
full  of  laughing  children. 

The  prince  inquired,  “You  brought  me  here?”  and 
the  man  replied,  “I  brought  you  here,  and  I  will  bear 
you  forth”;  and,  suiting  his  action  to  his  words,  he 
lifted  the  prince  and  as  one  who  walks  for  joy  without 
a  burden  carried  him  from  the  valley  of  death.  Then 
cried  the  prince,  “Man,  thou  art  most  wonderful,  for 
thou  canst  lift  me  when  I  fall;  thou  canst  save  me 
when  I  faint;  thou  canst  comfort  me  when  I  fear;  for 
thou  dost  serve,  and  thou  dost  never  die.” 

In  Lincoln  next  to  Jesus  the  world  finds  to-day  the 
finest  attributes  and  most  generous  powers  of  idealised 
human  character.  Because  of  him  she  cries,  “Man  is 
most  wonderful,”  and,  whatever  the  differences  bo- 
tween  Lincoln  and  Lafayette,  wherever  their  varying 
degrees  of  genius,  they  had  in  common  a  great  spiritual 
impulse  that  fructified  in  a  life  of  unselfish  service. 

“Lafayette,  we  are  here.”  These  were  the  words  of 
an  hour  of  national  exaltation,  an  hour  in  which  we 
knew  ourselves  turning  away  from  rivers  of  blood  out 
of  which  we  had  sluiced  sticky,  dripping  gold,  an  hour 


172 


What  Men  Need  Most 


that  found  us  entering  upon  a  new  era  in  international 
relationships,  an  era  of  ministry,  the  era  of  the  soul. 
And  while  we  spoke  to  Trance  and  called  the  name 
of  Lafayette,  our  words  were  for  all  the  broken  and 
discouraged  forces  of  the  Allies.  To  England  and 
Italy  and  Belgium,  yea,  and  to  Germany  and  Austria 
and  Russia,  to  the  whole  world,  they  meant:  “We  are 
here  to  lend  our  aid;  we  are  here  to  make  our  offering, 
to  bring  our  contribution;  we  have  come  to  suffer  and 
bleed  and  die.  We  are  here  to  give,  and  not  to  get.” 

The  spirit  in  which  the  nation  said  it  was  what  I 
believe  is  the  spirit  of  that  great  text,  “Cast  thy  bread 
upon  the  waters,  for  thou  shalt  find  it  after  many 
days.”  There  are  those  who  hold  that  the  spirit  of 
this  familiar  Scriptural  passage  is  the  spirit  of  a  wise 
and  far-seeing  commercial  maxim,  that  here  is  a  charge 
for  men  to  make  ventures  in  trade  in  order  that  they 
may  receive  a  large  return  for  their  expenditure.  This 
view  is  thought  by  some  to  be  supported  by  the  state¬ 
ment  concerning  the  good  woman  in  Proverbs  31:14, 
“She  is  like  the  merchant  ships ;  she  bringeth  her  bread 
from  afar.”  But  so  far  as  I  am  concerned  such  an 
interpretation  is  far  removed  from  the  spirit  of  Ec¬ 
clesiastes  or  the  Preacher. 

I  believe  that  the  only  justifiable  interpretation  is: 
“Do  good  without  thought  or  even  hope  of  return.  Do 
good  in  the  most  unlikely  and  unpromising,  the  most 
discouraging  quarters.  Do  good,  and  then  forget  it.” 
The  text  is  also  clear  in  its  statement  of  the  unfailing 
law  of  compensation.  “Thou  shalt  find  it  after  many 
days.”  Good  will  surely  return  to  you,  but  this,  which 
in  course  of  time  will  certainly  result,  is  not  to  be  the 
motive  for  the  deed. 

It  would  take  a  vivid  imagination  to  detect  an  ul- 


“Lafayette,  We  'Are  Here!3' 


173 


terior  purpose  behind  Lafayette’s  visit  to  America  and 
his  service  under  Washington.  For  him  there  was 
nothing  of  selfish  profit  in  it;  dangers,  financial  losses, 
pain,  mental  anguish, — to  these  he  opened  his  arms. 
Death  seemed  the  only  sure  termination  for  the  adven¬ 
ture. 

And  the  purpose  of  the  American  people  in  entering 
the  great  war  will  not  be  questioned,  will  not  be  mis¬ 
understood,  when  discriminating  history  has  been 
written.  The  carelessly  spoken  words  of  an  ambas¬ 
sador,  living  too  close  to  scenes  of  partisan  controversy 
to  see  clearly  served  to  clarify  the  minds  of  the  Ameri¬ 
can  people  as  to  their  purposes  and  only  objective  in 
the  supreme  physical  and  spiritual  ordeal  to  which  they 
gave  their  treasure  and  their  sons. 

Is  there,  then,  no  hope  of  a  blessing  for  service  ren¬ 
dered,  not  as  the  reason,  or  even  a  reason,  for  the 
service,  but  as  a  soul-strengthening  inspiration,  as  an 
anchor  to  faith?  Yes,  there  is  always  the  great  hope, 
and  more  than  hope  it  is ;  it  is  the  peace  of  deep  as¬ 
surance.  Do  good,  and  good  somehow,  somewhere 
sometime,  will  come  back  to  you.  Cast  your  bread 
upon  the  waters,  and  after  many  days  you  will  find 
it,  and,  finding  it,  will  find  that  it  has  been  multiplied. 

And  here  is  the  heart  of  the  matter:  You  do  good 
and  forget;  you  give  and  ask  for  no  return.  Then  in 
your  soul  through  all  subsequent  days  you  carry  the 
blessedness  that  comes  from  having  done  well,  the  sat¬ 
isfaction  of  having  helped  another;  and  though  you 
may  be  financially  poorer,  you  are  richer  in  peace.  The 
person  who  casts  his  bread  upon  the  waters,  with  no 
eagerness  to  find  it  again,  who  gives  and  forgets,  suf¬ 
fers  no  disillusionment  when  the  return  is  long  de¬ 
layed,  no  waste  of  strength,  no  loss  of  mental  poise 


174 


What  Men  Need  Most 


through  impatience.  Though  he  may  be  happily  sur¬ 
prised,  he  can  never  he  disappointed. 

Lafayette  lived  to  hear  his  name  in  tone9  of  love 
upon  the  lips  of  the  people  he  had  served;  he  must 
have  died  a  very  happy  man.  But  Lafayette  did  not 
live  long  enough  to  see  the  larger  returns  from  his 
investment.  One  hundred  and  forty  years  were  to 
pass  before  the  children  of  the  Continentals  would 
sweep  in  mighty  reinforcements  across  the  ravished 
fields  of  France  to  lift  their  shout,  “Lafayette,  we  are 
here !” 

But  the  greater  good  was  not  denied;  the  richer 
blessing  came,  and  in  it  was  the  salvation  of  a  nation, 
as  in  the  offering  of  Lafayette  had  been  the  succour 
of  a  people. 

The  bread  cast  upon  the  waters,  the  treasure  thrown 
unselfishly  down  upon  the  stream  of  life,  is  never  lost; 
always  it  returns  to  bless. 

That  which  is  passed  on  with  evil  purpose  is  heard 
from  again,  too,  for  the  evil  returns  to  curse.  “The 
wages  of  sin  is  death” ;  and  “Whatsoever  a  man  soweth, 
that  shall  he  also  reap.”  Daily  the  papers  of  the  city 
carry  morbid  stories  of  men  and  women  who  by  some 
catastrophe  have  been  caught  in  the  meshes  of  their 
long-hidden  indulgences  and  excesses;  their  sin  is  pub¬ 
lished.  The  very  delay  in  the  carrying  out  of  the  sen¬ 
tence  promised  upon  those  who  break  the  law  of  God, 
who  pervert  the  finest  instincts  of  the  human  soul,  often 
lulls  men  and  women  into  indifference;  but  let  us  re¬ 
member,  and  may  the  disaster  that  has  come  upon 
others  be  a  warning,  God  does  not  lie.  God  is  not 
mocked.  As  a  man  soweth,  that  shall  he  also  reap. 
The  wages  of  sin  is  death. 

But — but  the  gift  of  God  is  life,  life  eternal,  life 


rr Lafayette ,  We  Are  Here!”  175 

through.  Jesus  Christ,  “through  Jesus  Christ  our 
Lord.” 

To  join  to  this  what  finer  words  are  there  than  Lin¬ 
coln’s  words,  words  of  faith  and  courage,  words  of 
prophecy,  words  of  admonition,  words  of  consecration? 

“It  is  for  us,  the  living,  to  be  dedicated  to  the  un¬ 
finished  work  which  they  who  fought  have  thus  far  so 
nobly  advanced.  It  is  for  us  to  be  dedicated  to  the 
great  task  remaining  before  us;  that  from  these  hon¬ 
oured  dead  we  take  increased  devotion  to  that  cause  for 
which  they  gave  the  last  full  measure  of  devotion ;  that 
we  highly  resolve  that  these  dead  shall  not  have  died 
in  vain;  that  this  nation  under  God  shall  have  a  new 
birth  of  freedom;  and  that  government  of  the  people, 
by  the  people,  and  for  the  people,  shall  not  perish  from 
the  earth.” 

I  do  not  ask,  O  Lord,  a  life  all  free  from  pain; 

I  do  not  seek  to  be  in  this  vast  world  of  sin 
Without  my  load  and  care. 

For  this  I  know,  the  present  cross  is  my  eternal  gain; 

And  he  who  struggling  battles  on 

At  last  shall  enter  in  and  be  a  victor  there. 

So  Lord,  just  keep  me  clean  within, 

And  make  me  strong  to  fight; 

And  I  will  follow  through  the  din 
From  darkness  up  to  light. 


19 

WHO  WON  THE  WAR?  * 


Text:  St.  Luke  22 :  24.  “And  there  was  also 
a  strife  among  them ,  which  of  them  should  he 
accounted  the  greatest  ” 

It  is  a  tense  moment  in  an  upper  room  in  J ernsalem. 
The  time  is  the  feast  of  unleavened  bread,  which  was 
called  the  passover.  Jesus  has  been  in  most  intimate 
conference  with  His  disciples,  and  the  Lord’s  Supper 
has  just  been  instituted.  The  tragic  words,  “Behold, 
the  hand  of  him  that  betrayeth  me  is  with  me  on  the 
table,”  have  just  been  uttered,  and  the  disciples  have 
been  thrown  into  confusion  with  their  suspicions  of 
one  another.  It  is  at  this  point  that  Luke  enters  upon 
his  record,  “There  was  also  a  strife  among  them,  which 
of  them  should  be  accounted  the  greatest.” 

At  first  it  seems  a  grotesque,  an  unexcusable  thing, 
— this  wrangle,  this  petty  quarrel,  of  the  disciples,  so 
out  of  place,  so  far  removed  from  the  spirit  in  which 
their  Lord  has  talked  and  supped  with  them.  We  can 
hardly  forgive  these  men  for  the  false  note  thrown  into 
the  perfect  though  tragic  symphony  of  the  night. 

But  they  were  men,  men  who  for  days  now  had  lived 
under  the  strain  of  the  events  just  preceding  Geth- 
semane  and  Calvary.  They  had  listened  to  words 
they  found  themselves  less  and  less  able  to  understand. 

*  Sermon  preached  on  Washington’s  Birthday. 

176 


Who  Won  the  War ? 


177 


Their  Master  was  more  and  more  a  mystery  as  He 
approached  the  travail  of  His  soul.  They  have  seen 
Him  in  militant  mood  drive  the  traffickers  from  the 
temple,  in  triumphant  glory  pass  through  the  acclaim¬ 
ing  multitudes  and  under  the  gate  of  the  city.  Almost 
they  had  touched  the  sceptre  and  bowed  before  the 
crown.  His  very  miracles  now  seemed  prophetic  of  an 
hour  close  at  hand  when  for  the  humble  seat  He  would 
accept  the  mighty.  They  are  in  no  mood  to  catch  the 
deeper  meaning  of  His  words,  and  He  knows  full  well 
they  cannot  bear  a  plainer  statement. 

If  ever  men  had  an  excuse  for  nerves  and  a  clear 
title  to  a  physical  and  mental  reaction  from  the  exalta¬ 
tion  of  supreme  spiritual  experiences,  the  disciples 
had.  That  they  remembered  the  hidden  messages  of 
these  latter  hours  after  the  great  ordeal  was  past  is 
proof  conclusive  that  they,  the  chosen  vessels  of  His 
plan,  were  without  vital  flaw. 

Jesus  understood,  understood  them,  and  so  did  not 
overvalue,  did  not  misunderstand  their  words.  He 
knew  their  mental  and  physical  state,  knew  what  they 
had  passed  through  and  what  they  must  experience. 
He  was  not  impatient  with  them ;  His  rebuke  shows  no 
trace  of  indignation.  His  attitude  is  that  of  a  con¬ 
siderate,  patient  friend  or  rather  father.  I  cannot 
imagine  Him  raising  His  voice,  but  so  vitalised  were 
the  words  by  His  all-possessing  Spirit,  that,  though 
they  no  doubt  went  practically  unheeded  there,  they 
were  never  forgotten,  and  now  we  know  that  they  were 
spoken  to  live  forever. 

And  what  a  record  the  lives  of  these  men,  who  for 
a  moment  fell  into  dispute  over  rewards  and  position, 
— what  a  record  of  unselfish  ministry  their  lives  re¬ 
veal!  Over  the  whole  world  they  poured  their  deeds; 


178 


What  Men  Need  Most 


homeless  and  beset  by  jealousies  and  hardships  and 
mortal  dangers,  they  went  about  doing  good,  nor  did 
they  ever  ask  again  for  the  places  of  the  mighty. 

There  are  those  who  seem  to  find  a  certain  satisfac¬ 
tion  out  of  morbidly  interpretating  this  upper-room 
experience.  Into  it  they  read  a  curse  upon  ambition, 
and  from  it  they  draw  a  spineless,  flabby  character, 
not  only  self-effacing  but  self-debasing.  For  this  in¬ 
terpretation  I  have  no  patience.  Strong  men  climbed 
the  stairs  to  meet  with  J esus  in  the  upper  room ;  strong 
men  took  from  Him  the  bread  and  wine  of  that  first 
communion ;  strong  men,  men  of  passions  held  in 
leash;  men  of  faith  who  for  the  moment  stumbled  in 
the  dark,  but  stumbled  on;  stood  upon  their  selfish 
rights  and  claimed  their  own,  but  then  went  forth  to 
give  their  last  and  all  without  a  treasured  thought  of 
self. 

Their  mistake  was  the  mistake  of  strength  and  not 
of  weakness,  but  their  strength  was  not  a  mistake. 
Jesus  Christ  valued  them  for  the  ardour  of  their  youth, 
for  the  impatience  of  their  enthusiasm,  for  their  frank¬ 
ness,  for  their  courage,  ay,  even  their  recklessness,  I 
imagine.  His  concern  was  not  because  of  their  high 
spirits,  but  that  they  should  release  them,  invest  them, 
wisely,  unselfishly;  and  there  is  nothing  in  the  record 
of  that  night  before  Gethsemane’s  betrayal  to  indicate 
that  He  had  a  single  doubt  about  the  final  result. 

Jesus  Christ  called  men,  called  men  to  follow  Him, 
to  carry  on  His  plan,  to  build  His  kingdom,  men,  men 
of  manly  attributes  and  powers.  And  to  such  He 
speaks  to-day. 

Every  great  occasion  comes  upon  an  hour  when  those 
participating  in  it  turn  from  measuring  their  strength 
against  the  common  task  to  discussing  their  relative 


Who  Won  the  War ? 


179 


importance  with  one  another,  an  hour  of  rivalry,  an 
hour  of  jealousy,  that  may  reach  proportions  of  lasting 
bitterness  unless  the  counsel  that  saved  the  disciples  in 
the  upper  room  is  given  and  heeded.  Such  an  hour  fol¬ 
lowed  the  signing  of  the  armistice,  when  the  absorbing 
topic  of  the  day  in  every  military  organisation  of 
France,  for  doughboys  and  officers  and  among  the 
civilians  at  home,  indeed,  between  the  statesmen  of 
great  nations  as  they  faced  each  other  across  confer¬ 
ence  tables,  was,  “Who  won  the  war  V’ 

We  had  a  speech  from  Lloyd  George  in  the  Com¬ 
mons,  and  a  special  order  of  the  day  from  General 
Haig ;  we  had  a  diplomatic  but  unmistakable  statement 
from  Clemenceau;  and  in  the  Congress  of  the  United 
States  there  were  several  spokesmen  to  enumerate  the 
particular  instances  and  ways  in  which  America 
snatched  victory  from  defeat,  and  saved  the  cause  of 
the  Allies  from  irretrievable  disaster.  Hor  is  it  our 
purpose  to  hold  a  cynical  judgment  over  these  “his¬ 
torical  statements,”  or  statements  in  the  interests  of 
exact  history,  as  they  were  sometimes  called.  For  they 
were  all  true ! 

France  did  win  the  war.  Without  the  undying  faith 
of  her  impoverished  peasantry,  the  unyielding  courage 
of  her  soldiers  who  fought  as  men  only  fight  when  their 
fields  are  overrun,  their  cities  levelled,  their  homes 
destroyed,  their  sons  slain  by  the  engines  of  a  ruthless 
invader,  there  would  have  been  no  triumph  for  demo¬ 
cratic  peoples  of  the  earth  to  have  celebrated.  Clemen¬ 
ceau  was  right,  eternally  right.  France,  who  carries 
to-day  from  the  Channel  to  the  Alps,  the  marks  of  the 
world’s  greatest  blood-letting,  whose  children  were 
offered  to  the  red  Moloch  until  his  flaming  throat  was 
choked, — France,  whose  cities  bore  the  supreme  terror 


180 


What  Men  Need  Most 


of  that  colossal  struggle,  and  whose  soul  was  tried  as 
was  the  soul  of  no  other  land  save  Belgium, — France 
won  the  war;  and  the  people  of  the  earth  cry,  “Vive 
la  France !” 

And  Britain  won  the  war ;  won  it  in  those  first  days 
when  she  refused  to  condone  the  offence  against  inter¬ 
national  law,  and  the  tearing  up  of  treaties,  when  she 
offered  up  her  First  Hundred  Thousand,  forever  first 
in  the  annals  of  international  chastity  and  honour; 
won  it  with  her  fleet  that  kept  the  seas  for  freedom, 
and  won  it  with  the  stream  of  her  unfailing  treasure. 
Britain  won  the  war. 

And  America  won  the  war ;  won  it  with  her  idealism, 
won  it  by  giving  voice  to  the  inimitable  truth,  by  de¬ 
fending  the  at  first  obscured  principles  of  international 
justice  and  honour,  and  then  by  bringing  her  un¬ 
touched  and  well-nigh  inexhaustible  resources  of  men, 
of  money,  and  of  supplies,  to  the  support  of  the  ex¬ 
hausted  Allies;  won  it  with  her  faith  and  the  morale 
of  her  armies.  America  won  the  war. 

And  what  shall  we  say  of  Belgium  and  Italy?  The 
part  they  played  even  now  appears  as  absolutely  indis¬ 
pensable  to  the  success  of  the  common  cause.  What 
would  have  been  the  result,  had  Italy  turned  to  the 
Central  Powers,  and  what  the  story  told  in  future  gen¬ 
erations  had  Belgium  opened  her  boundaries  without 
the  siege  of  Liege  and  the  spoliation  of  Louvain  ?  The 
state  documents  and  the  orders  of  generals,  the  speeches 
of  prime  ministers,  of  princes,  and  now  of  senators, 
are  all  correct.  Even  now  we  are  able  to  evaluate  with 
a  fair  sense  of  justice  the  contribution  made  by  each 
and  every  sister  nation  in  that  colossal  investment  of 
life  and  treasure. 

Let  no  voice  be  raised  to  belittle  the  offering  of  any 


Who  W on  the  War? 


181 


people,  to  question  the  motive  of  any  state;  let  there  he 
no  vain  comparisons  and  no  idle  boastings.  There  is 
glory  enough  for  all.  He  is  a  poor  friend  of  this  or 
any  other  nation  who  seeks  so  to  exalt  the  place  of  his 
country  as  to  shame  loyal  citizens  of  another. 

The  rivalry  between  organisations  of  the  same  army, 
between  divisions  and  between  regiments,  between  the 
army  and  the  navy,  between  the  regular  and  the  volun¬ 
teer, — indeed,  rivalries  appearing  everywhere,  were 
always  interesting,  generally  amusing,  and  only  infre¬ 
quently  really  serious.  After  the  armistice  the  prin¬ 
cipal  theme  of  story-teller,  song-writer,  and  amateur 
poet  was,  “Who  won  the  war?” 

I  remember  a  graveyard  ballad,  the  refrain  of  which 
began,  “Who  won  the  war  ?  Our  brigadier.  Who  won 
the  war?  He  did  it  here”  (pointing  to  the  head). 
One  of  the  more  caustic  answers  to  the  question,  and 
one  that  always  left  an  unbiased  observer  under  the 
impression  that  the  speaker  had  very  likely  gone  on  a 
vacation  without  making  the  rather  important  mili¬ 
tary  arrangements,  was,  “Who  won  the  war?  Why, 
the  M.  P”  (Military  Police).  I  found  upon  the 
whitewashed  wall  of  an  old  building  in  Verdun  this 
legend,  written  with  the  wet  end  of  a  soft  brick,  “Let¬ 
ters  of  Victory:  M.  P.  and  Y.  M.  C.  A.  Oh,  but  we 
love  our  Sunday-school  teachers.”  But  this  was  merely 
the  manifestation  of  the  passing  spirit  of  the  hour. 
There  were  other  things  more  serious. 

I  am  glad  that  the  false  impressions  that  for  a  time 
threatened  to  work  a  sad  injury  to  the  American 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  have  not  survived  the  test-tube  of  search¬ 
ing  truth.  Under  difficulties  that  were  always  ap¬ 
palling,  and  at  times  beyond  the  powers  of  supermen, 
the  Young  Men’s  Christian  Association  at  home  and 


182 


What  Men  Need  Most 


abroad  rendered  a  service  to  the  American  people  that 
place  us  forever  in  the  debt  of  the  Red  Triangle. 
Other  welfare  organisations  did  well;  but  the  Y.  M. 
C.  A.  was  in  a  class  by  itself,  because  it  began  opera¬ 
tions  at  the  beginning,  and  even  before,  and  covered 
the  entire  theatre  of  operations,  where  others  limited 
their  activities  to  a  few  districts  or  organisations.  The 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  took  over  the  old  army  exchange,  not  be¬ 
cause  it  wished  to  do  so,  but  because  the  commander- 
in-chief  requested  it  to  do  so,  and  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  the  Association  leaders  knew  the  perils  of  the  step 
from  the  beginning.  The  exchange  had  always  been 
the  point  of  complaint  in  the  service;  but  the  job  had 
to  be  done,  the  situation  was  imperative,  and  the  Red 
Triangle  with  courage  and  determination  tackled  a 
task  that  the  military  authorities  themselves  confessed 
their  inability  to  handle. 

General  Pershing’s  tribute  to  the  efficiency  of  the 
Association  at  this  point  is  unanswerable  unless  with 
those  who  have  prejudices  that  do  not  surrender  to 
facts. 

It  was  my  privilege  to  see  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  under 
all  circumstances  incident  to  war  activities,  from  trans¬ 
port  service  and  home  training-camp,  embarkation 
ports,  and  base  hospitals,  to  huts  on  the  line  and  in 
cellars  under  the  “wire”  of  the  advanced  trenches. 
There  were  mistakes  made;  a  few,  only  a  few,  out  of 
thousands  who  wore  the  uniform  of  this  great  Chris¬ 
tian  agency  were  found  unworthy  of  the  trust  reposed 
in  them;  but  no  department  of  the  service  has  a  finer, 
cleaner,  more  glorious  record  than  the  Young  Men’s 
Christian  Association,  and  in  saying  this  I  voice  the 
sentiments  of  the  millions  who  were  ministered  to  by  it. 

General  Pershing  has  spoken  with  an  unmistakable 


Who  Won  the  War? 


183 


emphasis  concerning  certain  influences  at  work  to  dis¬ 
credit  the  Red  Triangle,  to  rise  upon  its  reported  short¬ 
comings  and  delinquences.  Let  us  not  be  blind  to  the 
bias  of  such  attacks. 

Who  won  the  war?  It  was  a  great  general  of  the 
First  Division  who  said,  “We  could  not  have  won  the 
war  without  the  Red  Cross  and  the  Red  Triangle.” 

I  found  myself  after  a  dreary  ride  from  Raney  in 
the  Association  offices  on  the  Rue  d’Aguesseau  in  Paris. 
There  I  found  Harry  Fisher,  a  former  Christian  En¬ 
deavour  State  president  from  Colorado.  He  was  hot 
with  fever  and  staggering  like  a  wounded  man.  I  tried 
to  get  him  to  bed,  but  it  was  no  use.  “Got  to  get 
back,”  he  said.  “Promised  the  fellows.”  “Got  to  get 
back,”  and  back  he  went,  to  die  with  pneumonia.  He 
lies  in  a  quiet  churchyard  near  Le-Fuerta-Bernard. 
Two  other  friends  of  mine  who  wore  the  red  badge 
of  honour  on  their  sleeves  and  bore  the  grace  of  God 
within  their  hearts,  were  killed  in  action,  one  as  he 
lifted  a  cup  of  coffee  to  the  lips  of  a  wounded  lad  in 
a  sunken  battery,  the  other  as  he  leaped  forward,  un¬ 
armed,  beside  the  doughboys  he  had  served  in  the 
trenches  and  from  whom  he  refused  to  be  separated 
when  they  went  over  the  top  in  a  charge.  Ho  calumny 
against  the  memory  of  these  and  their  kind,  no  slander 
against  the  great  organisation  whose  colours  they  wore, 
shall  go  unchallenged  while  I  have  a  voice  and  hearing. 

But  the  question,  the  real  question,  Who  won  the 
war?  is  not  yet  answered.  It  remains  an  open  ques¬ 
tion.  Some  results  that  for  a  time  appear  to  be  vic¬ 
tories  are  eventually  recognised  to  have  been  disasters. 
Some  time  ago  an  article  was  written  which  was  en¬ 
titled,  “Germany’s  Defeat  in  the  Franco-Prussian 
War,”  and  who  would  say  to-day  that  the  terms  wrung 


184 


What  Men  Need  Most 


from  a  prostrate  foe  by  Bismarck  secured  to  the  united 
German  states  a  lasting  triumph?  In  them  "were  the 
seeds  of  a  calamity,  a  calamity  that  the  future  historian 
will  insist  was  inevitable  from  the  beginning.  Prance 
carried  in  her  soul  resentment  for  the  wrong,  and 
waited  the  hour  of  final  accounting;  her  humiliation 
became  her  strength;  she  fed  the  fires  of  her  hate,  and 
kept  them  banked  against  the  day  when  the  inevitable 
conflagration  should  break  forth. 

And  now  it  is  for  France  to  take  counsel  from  the 
past ;  now  it  is  for  the  victorious  Allies  to  learn  lessons 
plainly  taught  by  the  disasters  that  have  come  upon  all 
peoples  who  have  failed  to  be  just  in  victory  or  whose 
triumphs  have  not  known  the  quality  of  mercy.  What¬ 
ever  Germany  by  her  aggressions  and  barbarities  has 
deserved,  there  are  certain  things  that  righteousness 
requires  of  us,  and  as  Germany  has  paid  and  is  now 
paying  for  following  Nietzsche  rather  than  Christ,  so 
we  shall  pay  if  we  fail  to  obey  His  greater  law;  if  in 
our  terms  and  exactions  we  do  not  “love  our  enemies.” 

The  refusal  of  the  United  States  to  participate  in 
material  gains  from  the  war  is  more  and  more  a  source 
of  gratification  to  those  who  hope  for  the  elimination 
of  armed  conflicts  and  the  perfecting  of  peace.  If  to 
this  we  will  now  add  a  generous  participation  in  the 
affairs  of  constructive  internationalism,  we  shall  win 
for  ourselves  the  gratitude  and  confidence  of  all  coun¬ 
tries,  that  will  be  a  surer  protection  from  attack  than 
armies  and  fleets,  and  more  profitable  than  tribute 
levied  upon  defeated  peoples.  In  eagerness  for  power, 
power  through  the  impoverishment  of  others,  is  a  fun¬ 
damental  weakness  that  standing  armies  cannot  cor¬ 
rect;  selfishness  hath  her  own  reward,  a  reward  in  the 
coin  of  bitterness  and  disaster. 


Who  Won  the  War ? 


185 


Not  only  for  nations,  but  for  individuals,  the  lesson 
is  a  vital  one.  The  men  and  women  who  live  for  them¬ 
selves  alone,  who  drive  sharp  bargains,  who  exact  the 
pound  of  flesh,  who  capitalise  the  failures  and  humilia¬ 
tion  of  others  for  their  own  reward,  may  seem  to 
prosper  for  a  time;  but  pride  goeth  before  a  fall,  and 
the  law  of  compensation  knows  no  favourites.  There 
are  times  when  retribution  seems  long  delayed ;  indeed, 
when  we  do  not  see  it  at  all;  but  as  a  man  metes,  so 
shall  it  be  meted  unto  him;  from  this  judgment  there 
is  no  escape. 

The  Father  of  his  Country  could  have  been,  and 
was  asked  to  be,  its  king  instead.  But  in  his  mind 
was  no  thought  of  reward,  and  in  his  soul  was  no  selfish 
ambition.  When  George  Washington,  the  wealthy  and 
already  distinguished  Virginia  planter,  broke  with  his 
class,  and  cast  in  his  lot  with  the  poverty-stricken  Revo¬ 
lutionists,  he  nad  no  dreams  of  power,  no  illusion  as 
to  his  personal  returns  from  the  adventurer.  He  em¬ 
braced  misunderstanding,  sacrifice,  humiliation,  and 
for  conscience’  sake  went  to  meet  poverty  and  death. 
He  became  great  because  deliberately  he  turned  his 
back  upon  greatness.  Had  he  taken  stock  of  his  pos¬ 
sessions  at  Mt.  Vernon,  had  he  thought  of  the  proba¬ 
bility  of  the  confiscation  of  his  estates  and  the  loss  of 
his  head,  had  he  hesitated  because  of  the  stigma  that 
would  attach  to  his  name  for  turning  against  his  king 
and  his  kind,  had  he  said  “No”  to  the  invitation  of  the 
Continental  Congress,  he  would  have  passed  by  Valley 
Forge  and  avoided  Long  Island ;  he  would  have  escaped 
the  treachery  of  his  generals  and  the  perfidy  of  Arnold ; 
the  Star-Spangled  Banner  might  never  have  won  an 
anthem;  and  he  might  have  lived  to  a  ripe  old  age,  a 
landed  gentleman  in  a  white  house  above  the  Potomac. 


186 


What  Men  Need  Most 


But  February  22nd  would  not  be  a  national  holiday, 
and  Byron  would  never  have  written, 

“The  first,  the  last,  the  best ; 

The  Cincinnatus  of  the  West.” 

For  us  there  is  but  one  conclusion.  Follow  the 
gleam;  be  true  to  the  light  that  is  given  you;  do  your 
best ;  fill  to  the  utmost  the  place  that  is  opened  to  you ; 
make  a  way  if  none  appears ;  serve  unselfishly ;  live  for 
others;  and  you  need  not  worry  about  who  won  the 
war  or  who  receives  the  adulation  of  the  passing  hour. 
You  may  in  full  serenity  of  mind  and  in  absolute  con¬ 
fidence  of  soul  leave  the  final  judgment  to  posterity, 
and  rest  your  case  with  God. 


20 

WHAT  IS  WAR?* 

Text :  Psalm  46 :  9.  “He  maketh  wars  to 
cease  unto  the  ends  of  the  earth;  he  breaJceth 
the  bow,  and  cutteth  the  spear  in  sunder;  he 
bumeth  the  chariot  in  the  fire” 

What  Is  War?  It  is  Hew  York,  riotously,  glori¬ 
ously  alive;  her  main  artery  flowing  from  building 
line  to  building  line  with  a  mighty  human  flood,  a  surg¬ 
ing  river  fed  by  every  racial  fountain  of  the  earth. 
Wen  and  women  weeping;  strong  lads  passing  by. 

What  Is  War  ?  It  is  the  ocean  in  a  black  night  with 
the  grey  dawn  coming  out  of  the  east,  and  icy  blasts 
driving  the  whitecaps;  a  foundering  ship;  men  cling¬ 
ing  to  fragments;  babies  floating  upon  cold  breasts; 
and  a  periscope  sinking  out  of  sight. 

What  Is  War?  It  is  a  hospital;  the  bustle  of  sur¬ 
geons;  the  smell  of  ether;  the  screech  of  brakes  on  a 
dead  wagon;  the  smile  of  a  nurse;  a  lad  with  bandaged 
eyes,  calling  for  his  mother. 

What  Is  War?  It  is  London, — Piccadilly  Circus 
after  the  “all  clear”  has  sounded;  “Bobbies”  holding 
back  a  frenzied  mob;  in  the  distance  shrapnel  guns 
spraying  the  skies  where  the  fleeing  air  raiders  pass; 
bodies  carried  from  a  shattered  building;  an  old  man 
lifted  from  beneath  an  infant’s  spattered  crib, — his 
head  a  red,  red  poppy, 

*  Conclusion  of  a  sermon. 

187 


188 


What  Men  Need  Most 


What  Is  War?  It  is  a  troop  train  pulling  out  for 
Dover  crowded  with  leave-expired  men;  a  thousand 
sobbing,  smiling  people  on  the  station  platform;  their 
faces  in  the  sun,  their  hands  thrown  upward,  in  a 
never-to-be-forgotten  spectacle  of  farewell. 

What  Is  War  ?  It  is  Paris ;  an  old  woman  pushing 
a  cart, — a  dog  harnessed  beneath  it.  She  stops  by  the 
curb,  as  an  ambulance  passes,  and  covers  her  eyes  with 
a  corner  of  her  black  shawl. 

What  Is  War?  It  is  a  graveyard  with  more  crosses 
than  there  are  oaks  in  the  King’s  forest. 

What  Is  War?  It  is  the  new-class  lads  of  seven¬ 
teen,  marching  arm  in  arm  to  the  registrars ;  there  are 
nosegays  in  their  lapels,  and  they  are  singing  the  Mar¬ 
seillaise. 

What  Is  War?  It  is  midnight  in  the  railway  sta¬ 
tion  at  Toul;  Red  Cross  nurses  sitting  on  their  “roll¬ 
ups”  waiting  for  the  dawn ;  the  sound  of  hostile  motors 
overhead,  and  rich  young  voices  humming,  “Rock  of 
Ages,  cleft  for  me.” 

What  Is  War?  It  is  a  machine-gun  company  of 
the  First  Division  marching  up  a  battle  road  in  front 
of  Menil-le-Tours,  singing  in  a  whisper,  “There’s  a 
long,  long  trail  a-winding.” 

What  Is  War  ?  It  is  a  mud-filled  trench  by  the 
Meuse  with  a  sky-lark  calling  above  the  night. 

What  Is  War  ?  It  is  a  dugout  at  Rambecourt ;  forty 
men  trapped  like  moles  in  a  burrow  and  breathing 
through  gas-masks;  sweat  pouring  from  armpits;  a 
burning  throat;  the  horrors  of  smothering;  membranes 
seeping  blood ;  bursting  glands ;  the  frenzy  of  a  failing 
mind,  and  a  man  trying  to  remember  the  names  of  his 
children. 

What  Is  War  ?  It  is  six  privates,  three  mules,  and 


What  1 8  War? 


189 


the  timbers  of  an  ancient  church  churned  together  by 
a  high  explosive;  other  men  creeping  out  and  picking 
up  red  fragments. 

What  Is  War  ?  It  is  a  barrage  laid  down  upon  an 
open  field  of  Seicheprey;  the  earth  opening,  rocks  and 
branches  pouring  upward;  indescribable  noises,  an  or¬ 
derly  hurled  high  into  the  air  and  something  that 
quivers  like  gelatine  falling  into  a  shell-hole  half  filled 
with  water. 

What  Is  War?  It  is  a  father  sitting  in  a  swivel 
chair  in  a  Hew  York  office  and  thinking  of  a  football 
game  that  was  indefinitely  postponed. 

What  Is  War  ?  It  is  a  young  woman  standing  in  a 
cottage  door,  a  baby  tugging  at  her  skirts  unnoticed; 
while  she  reads  a  cablegram  to  which  there  is  no 
answer. 

What  Is  War?  It  is  a  mother  sitting  in  an  arm¬ 
less  rocker,  the  rungs  of  which  are  marred  by  the  nails 
of  a  boy’s  boots,  and  looking  out  of  a  window  that  faces 
the  east. 

What  Is  War?  Taps  over  a  grave, — if  there  is  a 
grave.  A  speech  in  the  Chambers,  and  withered  for¬ 
get-me-nots. 

What  Is  War?  It  is  the  sum  of  all  terror  and  all 
bravery;  of  all  hates  and  all  ministries;  of  all  cruelty 
and  all  tenderness;  of  all  horror  and  all  glory. 

What  Is  War?  It  is  death;  it  is  waste;  it  is  futile. 

What  Is  War?  I  do  not  know,  for  I  have  seen  it. 

But  God  pity  us,  if  we  deny,  if  we  forget  the  courage, 
the  sacrifice,  the  suffering,  the  glory,  of  those  who 
offered  themselves  upon  the  red  altars  of  our  tragic 
yesterday.  God  pity  us  and  turn  His  face  from  us, 
if  we  repudiate  the  faith  in  which  the  mother  gave  her 
son  and  in  which  the  son  gave  himself.  But  God  judge 


190 


What  Men  Need  Most 


us  forever  if  we  profit  not  by  these  lessons  learned  in 
agonies  colossal. 

I  hate  war.  I  know  its  folly,  for  I  have  watched  it 
waste  the  substance  of  the  world. 

I  hate  it  with  terror, — the  terror  of  one  who  has 
known  the  sting  of  its  torture  and  the  frenzy  of  its 
fear. 

I  hate  it  with  passion, — the  passion  of  one  who  has 
held  its  dying  against  his  breast. 

I  hate  it  with  disillusionment, — the  disillusionment 
of  one  who  has  gathered  up  its  bloody  fragments. 

I  hate  it  with  agony, — the  agony  of  one  who  has  sons 
to  be  numbered  and  daughters  to  be  offered  should  its 
guns  grow  hungry  again. 

I  hate  war. 

I  hate  it  because  of  the  young  men  it  spits  upon 
bayonets  and  scatters  like  offal  across  continents  sown 
to  passion  and  watered  with  blood. 

I  hate  it  because  of  the  child  it  orphans  and  the  bride 
it  widows. 

I  hate  it  because  of  the  betrothed  it  leaves  unmated, 
the  father  it  makes  sonless  and  the  mother  it  robs  of 
the  fruit  of  her  womb. 

I  hate  war. 

I  hate  it  because  of  the  unborn  slain  in  the  loins  of 
the  potential  fathers  it  destroys. 

I  hate  it  because  of  the  evil  passions  it  unleashes  to 
feed  upon  the  innocent. 

I  hate  it  because  of  the  virgins  it  casts  to  the  lions 
of  lust. 

I  hate  it  for  the  goodwill  it  destroys;  the  truth  it 
perverts ;  the  lie  it  exalts ;  the  murder  it  decorates ;  the 
brotherhood  it  rapes,  and  the  black  damp  of  suspicion 
it  hangs  over  all  the  councils  of  men. 


What  Is  War ? 


191 


I  hate  war. 

I  hate  it  for  the  crimson  bubbles  it  blows  over  all 
the  seas  and  for  the  poisoned  breath  it  gives  the  wings 
of  the  wind. 

I  hate  it  for  the  men  it  maims, — bodies  mutilated, 
eves  blinded,  limbs  severed,  faces  shut  up  forever  be¬ 
hind  masks. 

I  hate  it: — hate  it  for  its  ruined  cities;  hate  it  for 
its  polluted  rivers;  hate  it  for  its  desecrated  altars; 
hate  it  for  its  fences  of  skulls  that  girdle  the  globe. 

I  hate  war. 

I  hate  it  for  the  hearts  it  has  broken. 

I  hate  it  for  the  minds  it  has  crazed. 

I  hate  it  for  the  souls  it  has  damned. 

I  hate  war,— but  I  believe. 

And  because  I  believe, — believe  that  the  song  of  the 
angels  over  Bethlehem  is  a  prophecy,  believe  in  the 
ultimate  might  of  right;  because  I  believe  in  God  and 
have  cast  the  anchor  of  my  faith  behind  Jesus  Christ, 
the  Prince  of  Peace,  I  seem  to  see  the  dawning  of  the 
day  when  the  nations  shall  beat  their  swords  into 
ploughshares,  their  spears  into  pruning-hooks,  and 
when  men  shall  learn  war  no  more, — forever! 


21 


CIVIC  GRAFTERS,  OR  PUTTING  RELIGION 

INTO  POLITICS 

Text :  St.  Matthew  22:21.  “Render  there¬ 
fore  unto  Coesar  the  things  which  are  Caesar  s 
and  unto  God  the  things  that  are  God’s” 

There  are  still  some  Christians  who  profess  to  believe 
that  prophetic  thunderings  against  specific  evils  have 
no  place  in  the  pulpit;  who  insist  that  the  church 
should  confine  herself  to  preaching  the  great  general 
truths  of  the  gospel,  leaving  to  men  their  application  in 
public  and  private  affairs  without  any  other  direction 
than  that  coming  from  the  individual’s  conscience. 

But  Jesus  Christ  in  His  day  was  strikingly  like  the 
ancient  prophets  when  He  turned  His  attention  toward 
evil.  He  was  straight  from  the  shoulder  and  definite. 
He  did  not  limit  His  execrations  to  the  dead  citizens 
of  Sodom,  but  fearlessly  denounced  the  hypocrisy  of 
the  scribes  and  Pharisees  of  His  own  time;  He  was 
not  satisfied  when  He  had  reminded  His  hearers  of  the 
wrong-doing  of  their  remote  ancestors;  He  drove  the 
money-changers  of  His  own  generation  out  of  the 
temple. 

Indeed,  the  Galilean  was  a  very  unconventional  per¬ 
son,  and  He  never  ceased  to  be  a  humiliation  to  the 
chief  rulers  of  the  synagogue  because  of  the  abruptness 
of  His  speech  and  the  utter  candour  of  His  criticism 

of  evil  whether  He  found  it  in  low  places  or  in  high. 

192 


198 


Civic  Grafters 

He  made  the  “faith  of  the  fathers’7  an  immediate  fact 
that  fearfully  embarrassed  many  of  the  descendants 
of  the  “fathers”;  descendants  who  were  quite  willing 
to  have  sin  in  the  abstract  fearfully  pommelled,  but 
who  yelled,  “Stick  to  the  Book,”  and  “Preach  the  Gos¬ 
pel,”  when  Jesus  looked  about  searchingly  and  dis¬ 
cussed  stealing  from  widows,  making  long  prayers  to 
be  heard  of  men,  and  turning  the  house  of  worship  into 
a  den  of  thieves. 

We  who  come  after  the  heroic  prophets  and  their 
greater  Lord  have  fallen  upon  easier  times;  for,  al¬ 
though  a  few  churchmen  would  even  now  limit  the 
voice  of  religion  to  chanting  hymns  and  making  formal 
petitions,  every  council  of  Christendom  declares  the 
“whole  gospel”;  preaches  the  undivided  message  of 
straight  limbs  and  clean  hearts,  denies  that  the  obliga¬ 
tion  to  feed  the  soul  relieves  of  responsibility  to  feed 
the  body,  and  boldly  announces  that  to  inveigh  against 
an  evil  principle,  without  smiting  an  evil  fact,  is 
neglect  of  duty. 

Jesus  was  seldom  in  harmony  with  the  traditions 
and  customs  of  the  organised  church  of  His  day;  He 
spoke  too  plainly  and  acted  too  directly.  We  are  more 
fortunate. 

We  are  beginning  to  realise  what  He  meant  when 
He  said,  “Pender  unto  Caesar  the  things  that  are 
Caesar’s,  and  to  God  the  things  that  are  God’s.”  Re¬ 
ligion  and  Patriotism  are  brothers,  and  brotherhood  is 
divine.  A  man  cannot  be  a  true  Christian  without 
doing  his  level  best  to  be  a  true  patriot.  Christianity 
in  politics  will  not  unite  the  church  with  the  state,  but 
it  will  put  religion  into  government,  without  which 
every  government  is  insecure  and  trembles  to  a  fall.  If 
Christianity  is  not  practical  it  is  not  even  Christian, 


194 


What  Men  Need  Most 


Jesus  was  not  a  theorist;  He  was  the  world’s  first  and 
greatest  Democrat.  He  ceased  not  to  declare  a  faith 
of  service ;  a  ministry  of  sacrifice ;  a  divine,  a  sufficient 
redemption  that  not  only  raised  the  dead,  but  that 
brought  to  life  the  living  dead;  a  ministry  that  in  all 
of  its  ministrations  used  not  the  past,  but  the  present 
and  the  future  tenses.  Jesus  had  less  to  say  about  the 
“home  over  there”  than  about  the  home  down  here. 
He  knew  that  the  man  who  pays  his  taxes,  and  looks 
after  his  immediate  dooryard,  would  not  abuse  his 
privileges  when  admitted  to  the  house  “not  made  with 
hands.”  Ah,  and  with  what  infinite  tenderness  He 
cried,  “I  go  to  prepare  a  place  for  you;  .  .  .  that 
where  I  am,  there  ye  may  be  also.”  How  perfectly 
He  related  the  spiritual  kingdom,  the  triumphant  fu¬ 
ture  existence  of  the  soul,  to  the  humdrum  responsi¬ 
bilities  of  our  existence  in  the  here  and  now!  He 
spoke  of  gold-paved  streets  with  far-eyed  vision  and 
without  forgetting  that  His  feet  were  on  the  sun-baked 
paths  of  Judea. 

Jesus  would  have  supported  Jane  Addams  in  her 
work  among  the  city’s  poor, — and  He  does.  Who 
doubts  that  He  would  set  Himself  openly  and  directly 
against  a  segregated  vice  district?  Who  questions 
what  ballot  He  would  hold  in  a  law  enforcement  cam¬ 
paign?  The  Son  of  God  came  with  one  theme,  one 
passion,  one  task, — the  bringing  in  of  His  Father’s 
Kingdom.  And  in  preaching  the  Kingdom  He  could 
not  avoid  naming  its  enemies.  He  drew  from  them 
the  cloaks  in  which  they  hid  themselves  from  the  peo¬ 
ple  they  deceived,  branded  their  treachery,  and  de¬ 
stroyed  their  cunning  devices  of  sophistry. 

When  a  political  campaign  is  being  waged  and  high 


195 


Civic  Grafters 

principles  are  at  stake,  let  us  remember  that  a  disser¬ 
tation  on  “good  citizenship”  is  fine  in  its  place,  but 
that  good  government  comes  by  eternal  vigilance,  cease¬ 
less  agitation,  and  clean  votes. 

The  Son  of  God  goes  forth  to  war,  and  not  the  least 
of  the  battles  is  the  battle  of  ballots! 

But  there  are  men  who  would  not  steal  a  cent,  who 
would  not  misappropriate  a  single  dollar  of  a  trust 
fund,  who  do  steal  liberty,  who  do  take  the  priceless 
institutions  of  freedom  without  paying  for  them,  who 
are  civic  grafters. 

It  was  one  of  these  who  said  some  years  ago,  during 
a  campaign  for  State-wide  prohibition  in  Vermont, 
“Prohibition  will  carry  the  State  all  right;  and,  if  I 
wasn’t  so  busy,  I  should  like  to  vote  myself.”  In  the 
election  which  followed,  he  and  his  kind  defeated  pro¬ 
hibition,  for,  with  one  hundred  thousand  eligible  voters 
in  the  State,  only  fifty  thousand  went  to  the  polls,  and 
a  majority  of  the  delinquents  were  registered  in  ter¬ 
ritory  already  dry  through  local  option. 

Shame!  Vermont  of  the  Green  Mountains!  Ver¬ 
mont,  out  of  which  Ethan  Allen  came  to  walk  with  the 
immortals!  The  descendants  of  men  who  tied  rags 
about  their  frost-bitten,  bleeding  feet,  and  marched 
through  blizzards  to  die  for  liberty,  sat  by  their  fire¬ 
sides  on  a  day  when  the  honour  of  their  commonwealth 
and  the  future  of  her  unborn  were  at  stake,  and,  with 
the  supreme  weapon  of  citizenship  in  their  hands  and 
the  gage  of  civic  battle  thrown  down,  struck  not  a 
blow.  The  battle  went  to  the  enemy  by  default ;  it  was 
not  won,  because  it  was  not  contested.  Hats  off  always 
to  the  heroic  men  and  women  who  struggled  until  the 
last  minutes  of  the  voting-day  against  unfair  odds 


196 


What  Men  Need  Most 


placed  upon  them  by  the  indifference  of  those  who 
should  be  their  fighting  comrades,  but  thrice  shame 
upon  those  others  who  sell  their  neighbour’s  birthright 
and  their  own  for  the  pottage  of  civic  laziness. 

For  myself  I  have  concluded  that  I  have  no  right  to 
enjoy,  no  right  to  accept  for  my  children,  the  benefits 
of  a  free  government  unless  I  am  willing  to  pay  the 
price. 

The  triumphs  of  civilisation  into  which  we  with  our 
sons  and  daughters  have  entered  were  won  by  women 
and  men  who  seriously  counted  the  cost  and  ungrudg¬ 
ingly  paid  it.  And  these  same  institutions,  unimpaired 
and  strengthened,  must  be  passed  on  to  those  who  come 
after,  by  those  who  live  now. 

Our  whole  fabric  of  government  is  dependent  upon 
a  political  system  conceived  and  established  by  the 
fathers,  but  for  which  we  are  now  responsible.  This 
system  of  government,  changed  from  time  to  time  to 
meet  the  needs  of  the  advancing  social  order,  halted  at 
intervals  by  the  shock  of  social  revolutions  from  within 
and  the  impact  of  new  world  forces  from  without,  re¬ 
mains  to-day  the  most  hopeful  plan  of  government  yet 
evolved  for  human  progress.  The  key-stone  of  this 
system  is  the  ballot.  He  whose  hands  fail  to  hold  the 
key-stone  in  its  place  is  traitor  to  the  State,  and  should 
be  made  a  man  without  a  country. 

But  does  not  the  right  to  vote  imply  the  privilege 
of  not  voting?  No;  rather  the  right  to  vote  enjoins 
the  duty  of  voting. 

The  man  who  is  born  into  a  democracy,  or  becomes 
a  part  of  it  through  due  process  of  the  law,  not  only 
comes  into  possession  of  the  priceless  boons  of  a  democ¬ 
racy  for  which  the  torch-bearers  of  social  justice  fell 
and  died ;  he  also  passes  under  the  rod  of  social  obliga- 


Civic  Grafters  197 

tion,  which  strikes  off  personal  liberty  in  tbe  name  of 
public  welfare. 

Suppose  that  honest  citizens  generally  remain  away 
from  the  polls  on  election-day.  And  why  should  one 
man  reserve  for  himself  the  privilege  of  easy  indiffer¬ 
ence  when  for  his  neighbour  to  make  the  same  reserva¬ 
tion  would  surely  bring  disaster  upon  the  homes  of 
both  ?  Let  us  face  the  facts.  If  throughout  the  LTnited 
States  frugal,  sober,  respectable  men  stayed  away  from 
the  polls  in  the  same  proportion  in  which  such  men 
stayed  away  from  the  polls  in  Vermont  on  the  election 
of  which  I  write,  how  long  would  it  take  the  govern¬ 
ment  of  which  Washington  is  called  the  father  and 
Lincoln  the  saviour,  to  disappear  ? 

Who  is  to  be  more  despised,  the  man  who  goes  to  the 
polls  and  casts  a  vote  for  an  evil  thing,  or  the  man 
called  upright  by  his  neighbours  who  does  not  vote  at 
all  ?  I  submit  that  the  latter  is  the  more  dangerous 
of  the  two;  that  the  indifferent  private  citizen  who 
fails  to  vote  is  in  the  long  run  a  far  greater  menace 
than  the  official  who  levies  a  tax  on  a  brothel,  or  takes 
hush-money  from  a  gambler.  The  corrupt  public 
official  reflects  his  constituency.  The  delinquencies  in 
public  office  just  about  keep  step  with  the  indifference 
in  private  life;  where  the  citizen  does  not  neglect,  the 
public  official  seldom  betrays. 

Free  government  must  eventually  fail  when  men  do 
not  practise  the  truth  that  every  voter  is  bound,  on 
every  offered  occasion,  unless  physical  disability  pre¬ 
vents,  to  go  to  the  polls  and  cast  his  ballot  in  such  a 
way  as  to  represent  his  sovereign  sentiments  on  the 
issue  before  the  people. 

In  the  exceedingly  rare  instances  where  a  voter  finds 
himself  confronted  by  an  election  offering  no  candidate 


198 


What  Men  Need  Most 


or  principle  representing  Lis  convictions,  he  can  always 
write  in  his  sentiments,  or  raise  a  voice  of  protest  that 
will  in  effect  offset  his  silence  at  the  polls. 

Do  I  hear  a  voice  repeat  the  iniquitous  falsehood, 
“But  my  vote  would  not  count,”  or,  “I  should  throw 
my  vote  away  ?” 

There  have  been  many  times  when  an  election  was 
won  by  a  single  ballot,  and  elections  have  failed  to 
carry  for  righteousness  because  one  man  stayed  at 
home. 

But  this  illustration  suggests  an  incidental  consid¬ 
eration.  The  only  man  who  ever  throws  his  vote  away 
is  the  man  who  does  not  vote  at  all,  or  who,  voting,  for 
some  venal  consideration  votes  against  his  convictions. 
I  may  never  vote  with  a  majority;  but  if  my  vote  ex¬ 
presses  my  citizenship,  delivers  my  own  soul,  it  wins! 
And  for  a  Christian  it  is  just  as  much  a  religious  duty 
to  vote  as  to  pray.  The  ballot  is  my  political  prayer. 
Jesus,  the  world’s  “First  Citizen,”  spoke  a  truth  that 
each  succeeding  generation  has  been  much  too  slow  to 
accept  when  He  said,  “Bender  unto  Caesar  the  things 
that  are  Caesar’s.” 

What,  then,  is  the  conclusion? 

First  of  all,  there  should  be  a  systematic  campaign 
on  the  part  of  patriotic  societies,  fraternal  organisa¬ 
tions,  and  all  departments  of  the  church  to  educate  and 
inspire  the  citizens  and  the  future  citizens  as  to  the 
responsibilities  and  privileges  of  citizenship.  In  this 
work  editorials  and  news  articles  in  papers  and  maga¬ 
zines,  modern  publicity  methods,  public  meetings, 
study  classes,  and  city  surveys,  should  all  be  employed. 
Such  a  campaign  would  have  a  great  opportunity  in 
the  patriotic  observance  of  the  Fourth  of  July.  “Good- 
Citizenship  Day,”  should  be  made  the  platform  for 


Civic  Grafters  199 

nation-wide  agitation  against  criminal  neglect  of  the 
suffrage. 

Finally,  every  citizen  not  voting  at  a  given  election 
should  be  required  to  furnish  to  the  election  board  the 
reason  or  reasons  for  his  failure  to  vote,  and  every 
citizen  not  voting  in  two  successive  elections  should  be 
disfranchised  for  two  years  unless  able  to  give  physical 
disability  as  the  cause  of  his  delinquency. 

Another  has  described  America  as  “a  republic  in 
which  all  men  are  sovereigns  but  in  which  no  man 
cares  to  wear  a  crown.”  But  the  crown  of  American 
sovereignty  is  the  ballot,  and  every  otherwise  worthy 
citizen  who  fails  to  wear  his  crown  denies  his  kingship 
and  endangers  his  kingdom. 


22 


PERSONAL  LIBERTY 

Text:  St.  Matthew  19:19.  Thou  shalt 
love  thy  neighbour  as  thyself  ” 

Many  years  ago  a  wise  man  said,  “Your  personal 
liberty  ends  where  your  neighbour’s  nose  begins.” 
Liberty  without  love  is  a  dangerous  thing  indeed,  and 
all  the  freedom  of  thought  and  action  that  we  as  indi¬ 
viduals  possess,  is  ours  because  men  and  women  have 
from  time  to  time  surrendered  personal  liberties  in  the 
interest  of  public  welfare.  No  man  could  have  unre¬ 
strained  independence  in  any  community  where  other 
men  are,  without  injury  to  his  neighbours,  and  there¬ 
fore  without  injury  to  himself,  for  by  breaking  down 
customs  and  laws  agreed  upon  to  protect  all  the  people 
he  would  remove  his  own  defence. 

There  are  times  when  liberty  and  license  are  con¬ 
fused  :  true  liberty  has  as  much  of  restraint  and  denial 
in  it  as  of  personal  freedom. 

We  might  imagine  one  man  alone  in  a  wilderness 
as  monarch  of  all  he  surveys,  and  absolutely  free  to  do 
as  his  moods  and  passions  direct.  But  even  in  such  a 
-case  the  man  would  soon  find  wild  animals  to  dispute 
with  him  his  occupancy  of  the  jungle  and  his  enjoy¬ 
ment  of  its  fruits.  And  killing  the  animals  would 
remove  his  source  of  fur-supply  as  well  as  his  imme¬ 
diate  danger.  He  could  not  wantonly  destroy  the  great 

200 


Personal  Liberty  201 

trees  without  inviting  killing  drought;  he  could  not 
build  fires  carelessly  without  bringing  to  himself  dis¬ 
aster.  Truly,  no  man  lives  unto  himself  alone. 

The  lesson  is  a  most  comprehensive  one,  for  it  ap¬ 
plies  equally  well  to  every  activity  of  life,  private  and 
public,  and  to  all  peoples.  Perhaps  we  have  come  to 
associate  Personal  Liberty  with  strong  drink  because 
the  friends  and  users  of  beverage  alcohol  have  so  per¬ 
sistently  used  the  slogan  “Personal  liberty”  to  combat 
the  forces  of  good  citizenship  and  religion.  But  in 
meeting  the  false  argument  we  have  come  to  see  clearly 
how  the  great  principle  of  “self-surrender  to  be  truly 
free”  is  at  the  heart  of  every  relation  of  life. 

There  can  be  no  peace  in  the  home,  no  profit  in  busi¬ 
ness,  no  justice  in  government,  no  safety  in  society,  no 
happiness,  no  culture,  no  security  anywhere,  without 
frank  and  sincere  consideration  of  others,  their  com¬ 
forts,  their  health,  their  prosperity,  their  rights. 

Jesus  always  put  into  the  very  heart  of  His  message 
the  “second  commandment,”  “Thou  shalt  love  thy 
neighbour  as  thyself” ;  and,  when  He  did  so,  He  pro¬ 
claimed  not  only  a  Christian  doctrine,  but  a  law  of 
social  relations  that  cannot  be  violated  without  disaster 
to  the  violator.  The  merchant  who  sells  spoiled  fruit 
loses  his  trade;  the  hotel  proprietor  who  serves  food 
that  he  would  not  eat  himself  empties  his  dining-room ; 
the  foreman  who  curses  his  men  arouses  them  to 
hatred  and  paves  the  way  for  a  strike;  the  individual 
who  keeps  the  better  and  best  for  himself  loses  the  most 
priceless  thing  in  the  world — friendship. 

There  is  only  one  royal  road  to  happiness,  the  road 
of  unselfish,  loving  service.  He  has  most  who  gives 
most  and  he  is  the  best  beloved  who  most  loves. 

Every  city  has  fire  limits.  In  certain  districts  only 


202 


What  Men  Need  Most 


fire-proof  construction  can  be  used;  specifications  that 
have  to  do  with  the  minutest  details  must  be  complied 
with  before  even  a  foundation  can  be  laid.  Floors 
must  be  of  concrete,  roofing  of  slate.  Why?  Are  not 
frame  houses  respectable  and  attractive?  Certainly, 
but  they  could  not  be  erected  in  the  crowded  districts 
of  a  city  without  endangering  the  entire  community. 
They  would  be  veritable  tinder-boxes.  Your  present 
liberty,  your  right  to  build  a  frame  house,  thoroughly 
good  of  itself,  and  in  its  place,  is  entirely  removed  in 
the  interest  of  public  safety. 

A  man  who  tries  to  commit  suicide  breaks  the  law. 
ITe  is  imprisoned  if  he  survives.  Why?  Because  the 
effect  of  his  action  on  society  is  bad,  leading  others  to 
regard  life  lightly,  setting  a  poor  example  for  youth 
and  exerting  an  evil  influence  on  the  morbid  and  the 
highly  nervous. 

A  man  cannot  drive  where  he  will ;  he  must  obey  the 
traffic  laws.  One  poorly  managed  automobile  often 
congests  a  crowded  avenue  for  many  minutes. 

You  cannot  eat  what  you  will.  If  you  think  that 
you  can,  remember  the  future  builds  upon  the  present. 
To-day  sanatoriums  are  crowded  with  dyspeptics  who 
were  the  gormandisers  of  yesterday. 

Let  us  return  to  the  quotation,  “Your  personal  lib¬ 
erty  ends  where  your  neighbour’s  nose  begins.”  I  have 
a  perfect  right  to  swing  my  hands  vigorously  in  front 
of  me,  and  up  and  down,  and  round  about ; — a  perfect 
right;  but,  if  another  man  is  within  arm’s  length  of 
me  and  I  swing  my  hands  vigorously  and  heedlessly 
or  angrily,  there  may  be,  and  very  likely  will  be,  a 
perfect  riot. 

Canadian  thistles  are  beautiful  when  in  their  purple 
bloom,  but  you  cannot  grow  them  in  your  back  yard. 


Personal  Liberty  203 

The  thistledown  with  seeds  for  many  thistles  will  he 
carried  by  the  autumn  winds  into  your  neighbour’s 
yard,  and  thistles  are  regarded  by  society  as  a  pest. 

You  have  a  right  to  walk  the  streets  of  your  city, 
to  appear  unmolested  in  any  public  place — until  you 
become  afflicted  with  measles  or  some  other  contagious 
disease. 

Drink  destroys  the  liberty  of  the  drinker.  See  him 
stagger  and  fall.  He  can  no  longer  direct  his  steps,  or 
rule  his  limbs.  Hear  him  shout  and  curse.  He  does 
not  know  what  he  is  saying,  and  has  lost  command  of 
his  thoughts.  His  eyes  are  blinded;  his  moral  sense 
is  dulled;  his  baser  passions  are  unleashed;  his  better 
self  is  chained.  The  drunkard  is  the  most  complete 
and  pitiable  slave  of  them  all,  in  bondage  as  to  body, 
mind,  and  soul. 

Drink  destroys  the  liberty  of  the  drinker’s  wife  and 
children,  of  his  loved  ones  and  his  friends.  Is  the 
woman  in  ragged  garments  and  with  a  bruised  face, 
begging  from  door  to  door,  free  ?  Is  the  lad  forced  to 
wear  the  shame  of  a  drunkard’s  child,  free  ?'  Is  the 
broken-hearted  parent  who  mourns  the  death  of  a  dis¬ 
solute  son,  shot  in  a  saloon  brawl,  free?  Are  the 
friends  of  such  a  one  free? 

Drink  destrovs  the  liberty  of  a  nation,  for  a  nation’s 
freedom  is  established  upon  the  lives  of  the  men  and 
women  who  fill  her  homes  and  man  her  shops.  She 
survives  or  perishes  as  they  are  strong  or  weak. 

Shall  we  continue  to  respect  the  “personal  liberty” 
of  those  who  would  destroy  themselves  and  us?  Shall 
we  continue  to  respect  the  “personal  liberty”  of  those 
who  would  coin  into  money  the  tears  of  women  and 
children  and  the  cries  of  unfortunates  possessed  of  a 
fiendish  thirst  they  cannot  master  so  long  as  the  thing 


204 


What  Men  Need  Most 


that  arouses  it  survives  because  the  laws  of  nation  are 
violated  ?  Shall  we  continue  to  be  deceived  by  the  cry, 
“Personal  liberty”  when  the  cry  is  the  demand,  not 
for  liberty  but  for  license  ?  Thou  shalt  love  thy  neigh¬ 
bour  as  thyself  is  the  answer  of  Jesus  Christ. 


23 


HOMESICK!* 

Text:  I  John  5  :  4.  “ This  is  the  victory  that 
overcomes  the  world 

“I  am  homesick  for  the  feathery  bamboo  waving  in 
the  soft  spring  breezes;  for  the  yellow  of  the  mustard 
and  the  purple  blossoms  of  the  soy  bean  back  of  beau¬ 
tiful  Lake  Side.  I  want  to  smell  the  wistaria  that 
blooms  on  our  hills  and  pick  violets  back  of  the  rice 
fields.  The  white-sailed  boats  scudding  over  Timg 
Ting  will  be  a  welcome  sight  to  me  and  I  expect  that 
I  shall  want  to  hug  all  my  little  yellow  school  kiddies 
when  I  get  home !” 

Before  me  is  a  letter  from  a  missionary  soon  to 
return  to  China  after  a  year  of  furlough,  and  this  is 
the  closing  paragraph. 

When  I  saw  her  first  she  was  a  black-eyed,  black¬ 
haired,  laughing  school  girl,  and  I  was  a  little  boy. 
We  picked  flowers  together  on  the  sunny  hill-slopes  of 
western  Pennsylvania’s  Alleghenies.  We  waded  in 
the  beautiful  mountain  stream  that  went  singing 
through  the  golden  summer  days  close  by  her  home. 
Where  the  stones  were  smooth  and  the  currents  swift 
she  held  my  hand  and  steadied  me.  She  was  a  rare 
chum!  I  can  hear  her  laugh  to-day  ringing  clear  as  a 
sweet-toned  bell,  and  the  music  of  her  full-throated 

*  This  chapter  and  the  eight  following  contain  a  series  of  <c3hort 
sermon  stories.” 


205 


206  What  Men  Need  Most 

song  floats  across  the  years  and  fills  my  thought  with 
melody. 

When  she  went  to  China,  some  people  talked  about 
“buried  talents/7  “the  pity  of  it/7  “the  disappointment 
they  suffered/7  and  “the  unreasoning  mind  of  the 
devotee.77  But  she  sailed  away  into  the  sunset  and  her 
tear-dimmed  eyes  were  smiling,  for  her  heart  was  fixed, 
and  on  her  lips  was  the  name  of  Him  “whom  having 
not  seen  she  loved.77 

The  years  have  passed  and  once  again  her  face  is  set 
toward  the  hills  of  Tang.  Her  furlough  is  over  and 
she  is  glad !  She  has  watered  with  her  tears  the  grave 
of  her  father  who  died  breathing  the  name  of  his  baby 
girl  twelve  thousand  miles  away.  She  has  lifted  her 
infant  son  from  the  failing  mother  arms  that  nestled 
her,  and,  standing  by  the  side  of  the  man  “God  gave 
her/7  she  has  raised  her  eyes  to  the  rice  fields  whither 
she  journeys  to  her  life’s  work  on  the  rainbow  shores 
of  Timg  Ting.  Again  my  eyes  fall  to  the  closing  sen¬ 
tence  of  her  letter.  “I  am  homesick.  .  .  ,  I  shall 
want  to  hug  all  my  little  yellow  school  kiddies  when 
I  get  home!” 

She  has  forgotten  the  fever  and  the  heat,  the  filth 
of  diseased  beggars,  the  insolent  eyes  with  malice  shot, 
the  anguish  of  her  friends  who  died,  the  bloody  sword 
of  the  empire,  the  screaming  of  the  rebel  shells. — Ho, 
she  has  not  forgotten ! 

“O  Love,  that  passeth  knowledge;  this  is  the  victory 
that  overcomes  the  world!77 


24 


THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  PARDONED 

Text:  Isaiah  55:7.  “He  will  abundantly 
pardon 

It  was  Christmas  Sunday.  Two  hundred  and  fifty 
men  and  thirty  women  were  assembled  for  religious 
services  in  the  chapel  of  a  County  Work  House.  After 
the  sermon,  the  wife  of  the  Superintendent  of  City 
Missions  very  earnestly  invited  those  present  to  pub¬ 
licly  express  any  desire  that  might  be  in  their  hearts 
to  live  changed  lives. 

It  was  a  strange  scene,  and  a  strange  setting  for  a 
testimony  service.  Crowded  benches  with  grey-clad 
prisoners,  guards  on  high  chairs  armed  with  heavy 
clubs,  the  matron  with  the  women  under  her  charge  at 
the  very  rear  of  the  room,  and  the  speaker  and  singers 
on  the  platform.  Men  who  do  not  know  would  say, 
“A ’hard  audience  to  reach,”  but  no  man  ever  spoke  to 
a  more  responsive,  a  more  earnest  one.  And  by  way 
of  digression  it  is  well  to  add  that  an  audience  of  this 
kind  is  never  harder  to  address  than  any  other,  and 
very  frequently  it  is  much  more  responsive  than  the 
average  Sunday  morning  congregation  of  the  church, 
providing  the  speaker  talks  to  men, — weak,  vile, 
broken,  heart-sick,  discouraged,  sinning  men — but  men 
nevertheless.  Many  a  prison  message  is  ruined  by 

being  “fixed  up”  for  criminals. 

207 


208 


What  Men  Need  Most 


To  the  appeal  already  referred  to,  perhaps  fifteen 
men  responded, — several  coloured  men,  several  aged 
men,  and  several  very  young  men.  Their  testimonies 
were  much  the  same,  and  every  voice  shook  with  emo¬ 
tion.  One  poor  fellow  dropped  his  head  to  the  hack 
of  the  bench  in  front  of  him  as  he  finished  speaking, 
his  body  shaking  with  sobs.  JSTearly  every  man  who 
spoke  wept,  and  at  least  half  of  the  great  body  of  pris¬ 
oners  were  in  tears.  It  was  sternly,  realistically,  com- 
pellingly  impressive.  One  lad  spoke  of  his  mother, — 8 
“She  taught  me  right, — she  is  dead.  I  got  into  bad 
company/’ — and  others  followed  his  lead.  Spiritually 
it  was  all  elemental.  There  was  positively  no  room  for 
fine-spun  theories,  and  nowhere  was  there  the  sugges¬ 
tion  of  doubt.  Jesus  Christ  was  the  lamb  of  God  “that 
taketh  away  the  sin  of  the  world.”  Men,  coarse  of 
face,  and  with  souls  seasoned  in  the  weathers  of  sin, 
but  touched  now  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  were  turning  not 
to  the  theological  dogma  of  one  school  or  of  another, 
but  were  crying  out  to  “the  lamb  for  sinners  slain.” 

How  heartening!  How  strengthening  to  weakening 
faith !  What  a  relief  from  the  laboured  sentences  of 
apologists !  What  an  oasis  from  the  starving  plains  of 
modern  theological  controversy! 

Are  you  depressed?  Are  you  starving  spiritually? 
Then  go  to  the  rescue  mission,  the  church  for  “down 
and  outs,”  the  penitentiary,  the  work  house, — go  there 
to  see  the  bruised  hands  and  feet,  the  bleeding,  ragged 
brow,  the  opened  side;  go  there  to  hear  again  and  to 
rejoice  with  exceeding  joy  in  the  knowledge  that 
“nothing  but  the  blood  of  Jesus  can  wash  away  my 
sin.” 

And  now  a  tall  coloured  man  is  speaking.  He  is 
very  deeply  moved.  “I  am  fifty-two  years  old.  I  have 


The  Man  Who  Was  Pardoned  209 


been  bere  eighteen  months.  My  mother  died  years  ago. 
~No  one  has  ever  visited  me.  I  have  no  friends.  I 
haven’t  a  friend  in  the  world.”  And  he  closed  by 
expressing  a  desire  to  live  a  changed  life,  and  the  de¬ 
termination  to  find  Jesus  Christ.  Immediately  the 
Superintendent  of  the  Work  House  arose,  in  the  rear 
of  the  hall,  and  as  soon  as  he  could  attract  the  atten¬ 
tion  of  the  leader  of  the  services,  came  to  the  front  and 
with  a  touch  of  the  dramatic  in  his  words  announced 
that  he  had  selected  the  man  who  had  just  spoken,  the 
man  who  had  no  friends,  and  without  political  pull,” 
a  coloured  man, — to  receive  the  annual  Christmas  par¬ 
don.  “And,”  he  concluded,  “I  know  that  all  the  boys 
will  rejoice  with  you,  Henderson.”  And  they  did! 
Henderson’s  face  beamed  with  the  sun-burst  of  a  soul 
doubly  pardoned. 

It  was  a  stirring,  a  never-to-be-forgotten  moment. 
What  a  setting  for  the  appeal  that  every  man  accept 
the  Christmas  pardon  of  Jesus  Christ!  The  Super¬ 
intendent  had  only  one  pardon  to  bestow,  but  the 
Saviour  of  the  world  had  for  every  man  a  pardon  un¬ 
conditional,  everlasting  and  free.  It  did  not  seem 
strange  to  those  who  saw  and  heard  and  rejoiced,  that 
fully  half  of  the  three  hundred  grey-clad  men  and 
women  lifted  their  hands  in  the  closing  moments  of 
that  memorable  service,  asking  for  the  prayers  of  their 
brothers  and  sisters  who  had  tasted  and  found  good 
“the  waters  of  salvation.” 


# 


25 

LEAD  ON,  LORD  JESUS! 

Text:  St.  Luke  28 :  20.  “ Even  unto  the  end 
of  the  world  ” 

Softly  the  wind  whispered  through  the  sheltering 
houghs  of  overhanging  trees.  Kindly  and  warm  the 
sun  pressed  through  and  lit  the  faces  of  a  dozen  men, 
young  men,  bowed  in  morning  prayer.  A  providential 
place  it  was  for  such  a  group, — an  Indian  mound  that 
nestles  close  down  by  the  shores  of  lovely  Lake  Winona. 

But  the  men!  Strong  men  they  are,  and  from  the 
four  corners  of  the  earth  they  come.  An  engineer  from 
England  and  a  college  professor  from  the  same  coun¬ 
try  ;  a  missionary  from  India  and  another  from  China. 
A  college  President  from  Oregon;  a  pastor  from  Kan¬ 
sas  and  a  bank  president  from  the  same  State.  An 
accountant  from  Missouri.  An  Orphans’  Home  Super¬ 
intendent  from  Ohio.  An  Indiana  college  man.  A 
lad  from  a  middle  western  farm.  A  boy  from  a  freight 
office,  and  a  carpenter. 

And  these  men  are  tendered  and  commanded  by  the 

same  overwhelming  impulse.  It  shines  from  their 

eyes  and  is  in  the  grip  of  their  strong  hands.  Their 

faces  are  glorified  with  it,  and  now  they  breathe  it 

forth  in  sacramental  prayer: — “To  know  Thy  will,  O 

Father,  and  to  do  my  full  best.  To  have  no  stain  of 

guilt  and  no  unsurrendered  part  in  all  my  life,  for 

210 


211 


Lead  on.  Lord  Jesus ! 

Jesus’  sake.”  The  bronzed  disciple  from  beyond  the 
sea  pleads  softly  in  the  deep  tones  of  a  virile  man,  and 
the  united  voice  of  the  mound  is  raised  in  the  Amen. 

“And  I,  if  I  be  lifted  up  from  the  earth,  will  draw 
all  me  unto  me.”  He  has  drawn  them,  and  they  follow 
on !  Hor  curling  waves  nor  tides  nor  hemispheres,  nor 
gold,  nor  lusts,  nor  life  nor  death  shall  halt  their  tread, 
neither  shall  the  gates  of  Hell  prevail  against  them! 
Lead  on.  Lord  Jesus, — manly,  matchless,  Holy  One. 
Lead  on! 


26 


“UNTO  THE  LEAST” 

Text:  St.  Matthew  25:40.  “Inasmuch  as 
ye  did  it  unto  one  of  these  my  brethren,  even 
these  least,  ye  did  it  unto  me  ” 

We  were  waiting  for  a  train  in  a  small  junction 
town  of  Iowa,  and  had  breakfasted  in  the  “hotel.” 

While  we  sat  in  the  office,  which  also  served  as  par¬ 
lour  and  a  smoking-room,  an  unfortunate  lad  came 
limping  in.  A  pathetic  figure  he  was,  with  bloodshot 
eyes,  great  head,  and  frail  body, — one  of  the  refuse 
of  the  world.  He  hurried  by  the  loungers  to  the  desk, 
and  we  heard  him  say,  “Any  work  to-day?”  And  a 
ringing  voice  replied:  “Sure,  just  waiting  for  you, 
Ben.  Here’s  the  broom.  Sweep  off  the  walk.” 

Our  interest  was  aroused,  for  it  was  very  apparent 
that  “Ben”  couldn’t  sweep,  that  his  poor  arms  had 
scarcely  strength  to  lift  the  broom.  And  what  sort  of 
a  man  would  give  such  an  unfortunate  work,  anyhow  ? 
A  handsome  fellow  he  was,  son  of  the  proprietor.  He 
stepped  in  while  we  were  at  breakfast,  and  responded 
to  the  greetings  of  the  men  about  the  place,  with  whom 
he  seemed  to  be  in  good  standing,  by  saying  with  the 
frank  pride  that  warms  the  heart  of  a  man  who  is  far 
from  home,  that  his  wife  and  the  baby  were  “doing 
nicely.” 

“Ben”  clutched  the  broom,  and  wabbled  out  of  the 

door,  and  with  feeble  strokes  began  a  ludicrous  effort 

212 


“Unto  the  Least” 


213 


to  follow  instructions.  A  pathetic  sight  it  was.  As  I 
watched  him,  the  young  fellow  at  the  desk  watched  too; 
and  then,  seeing  that  I  had  a  friendly  interest  in  the 
case,  he  came,  and  dropping  into  the  vacant  chair  at 
my  side,  told  me  a  story  in  which  he  himself,  although 
he  didn’t  realise  it,  was  the  hero. 

The  crippled,  weak-minded  lad  was  the  rude  jest  of 
the  town  until  the  son  of  the  hotel-keeper  came  home 
from  college  and  broke  a  few  ruffians’  heads.  “It  made 
me  fighting  mad,”  he  said,  “to  hear  them  plague  the 
hoy.  They  let  him  alone  now.  But — do  you  know — 
what  the  chap  wanted  wasn’t  protection  or  sympathy. 
He  wanted  to  he  treated  like  other  people;  and,  when 
I  found  that  out,  I  began  treating  him  like  a  man. 
Every  day  he  comes  here  and  goes  to  work.  You’ve 
sized  him  up;  he  can’t  work;  his  poor  legs  bend  like 
a  willow  and  he  is  nearly  blind;  but,  sir,  he  is  happy 
now ;  do  you  hear  him  try  to  whistle  ?  He  goes  with 
me  to  the  station,  and  keeps  his  hand  on  the  mail-cart. 
Thinks  he  helps.  The  travelling  men  are  mighty  kind 
to  him,  and  he  picks  up  a  nickel  now  and  then.” 

The  young  man  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then 
he  said,  and  in  a  tone  of  apology,  “Before  our  baby 
was  born  I  felt  a  trifle  easier  because  I’d  tried  to  be 
decent  to  Ben, — you  ought  to  see  our  boy !” 

“Ben”  limped  along  to  the  train  with  us;  and,  as 
the  “Northwestern”  whistled  in,  he  shouted  in  a  quav¬ 
ering  voice,  “Train  west;  all  aboard.” 


27 


A  HEART  STORY 

Text:  Proverbs  11:30.  “He  that  winneth 

souls  is  wise  ” 

Some  years  ago,  under  an  oak-tree  on  the  campus 
of  my  college,  I  put  my  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  a 
friend,  and  said,  “Frank,  every  day  I  am  praying  that 
you  will  become  a  Christian.” 

It  was  the  day  of  my  graduation.  The  next  morn¬ 
ing  I  started  on  a  three-thousand-mile  journey. 

Frank  was  a  freshman,  just  at  the  turning  of  his 
young  manhood.  He  would  have  been  classed  with  the 
“awkward  squad,”  for  he  was  overgrown  and  self- 
conscious;  but  he  was  big-hearted  and  clean  and  in 
every  fine  particular  a  gentleman.  He  very  quickly 
developed  into  an  exceptionally  strong  and  handsome 
man. 

I  came  to  know  him  well  on  the  athletic  field.  He 
was  not  an  athlete  himself,  when  I  first  knew  him,  but 
many  a  time  he  has  rubbed  me  down  after  a  gruelling 
game  or  a  heart-breaking  finish.  He  was  one  of  those 
who  build  the  indefinable  spirit  of  a  college,  and  he 
was  always  ready  to  fill  a  place,  however  small  and 
obscure. 

When  honours  came  to  him  later,  he  bore  them  well. 

He  became  an  associate  member  of  the  college  Young 

Men’s  Christian  Association  when  I  was  its  president. 

He  had  been  on  my  prayer-list  for  months  before  I 

214 


215 


A  Heart  Story 

spoke  to  him  about  it;  and  when  I  did  speak,  on  the 
occasion  referred  to,  he  gripped  my  hand  and  thanked 
me. 

During  that  year  he  became  a  Christian  and  united 
with  the  church.  He  wrote  me  very  happily  after  his 
decision,  and  I  experienced  the  quiet  joy  that  comes 
with  each  fresh  assurance  that  God  answers  prayer. 

I  shall  always  be  glad  that  one  year  after  gradua¬ 
tion  I  returned  for  the  commencement  exercises  of  my 
college.  In  one  year  there  are  changes;  but  things  are 
still  pretty  much  the  same,  and  the  papers  do  not  yet 
refer  to  you  as  a  “former  student.” 

Twelve  months  to  a  day  from  the  time  I  said  good¬ 
bye  to  Frank  I  greeted  him  again,  and  in  the  late 
afternoon  we  spent  an  hour  together  on  the  steps  of  the 
old  Administration  Building.  We  saw  each  other  for 
a  few  moments  on  the  following  day,  and  then  we  sepa¬ 
rated  for  time.  I  am  glad  that  there  will  be  reunions 
in  eternity. 

On  leaving  college  Frank  established  himself  in  busi¬ 
ness  in  southern  Oregon.  He  married  most  happily, 
and  friends  who  were  privileged  to  visit  it  tell  me  that 
his  home  was  a  delightful  place.  From  its  first  morn¬ 
ing  it  had  a  family  altar.  He  was  very  soon  elected 
superintendent  of  the  local  Sunday  school,  and  he  be¬ 
came  a  pillar  in  the  church. 

One  afternoon  during  a  summer  vacation  period  my 
friend,  with  his  wife  and  two  associates,  made  an  ex¬ 
ploring  trip  into  the  caves  of  the  lava-beds  near  their 
camp.  They  entered  the  caves  single-file,  paying  out 
behind  them  a  line  to  direct  them  on  their  return 
through  the  intricate  mazes  of  the  dark  chambers.  My 
friend  led  the  way,  carrying  in  addition  to  his  torch 
a  loaded  revolver  to  guard  against  a  possible  surprise 


216  What  Men  Need  Most 

from  the  wild  animals  which  are  often  found  in  the 
lava-beds. 

Suddenly,  and  in  a  way  that  will  never  be  explained, 
my  friend  lost  his  footing ;  and,  as  he  crashed  down,  his 
revolver  was  discharged;  the  bullet,  entering  an  eye, 
pierced  his  brain.  The  light  which  he  carried  was 
extinguished  by  his  fall,  and,  in  the  panic  which  fol¬ 
lowed,  the  other  torch  was  destroyed. 

With  no  thought  of  herself,  the  young  wife  groped 
through  the  awful  darkness  until  she  found  her  loved 
one,  and  then  with  his  head  in  her  lap  she  waited 
through  the  long  hours  that  brought  no  help. 

Pursued  by  a  mad  terror,  her  two  associates  had 
turned  and  fled  when  the  lights  went  out,  and  their 
wild  fears  so  robbed  them  of  reason  that  they  were 
unable  to  tell  a  coherent  story  of  the  tragedy  or  direct 
the  rescuers,  when  they  reached  the  camp. 

When  the  young  wife  was  no  longer  able  to  detect 
a  flicker  of  life  in  the  dear  form  she  clasped,  she  stag¬ 
gered  through  the  long  caverns  to  the  light,  and  then 
led  back  the  sad  party  that  bore  out  the  broken  body 
of  my  friend.  That  she  lived  is  remarkable;  that  she 
retained  her  reason  is  a  miracle. 

I  have  written  this  to-day  because  I  have  been  think¬ 
ing  about  Frank.  In  an  old  diary  I  found  a  letter  his 
wife  wrote  me  soon  after  the  funeral,  which  was  held 
in  the  old  college  town  where  they  brought  his  body 
for  burial  among  the  scenes  he  knew  as  a  boy  and 
among  the  friends  who  loved  him.  It  is  a  very  brave 
and  a  very  wonderful  letter,  and  the  last  lines  of  it 
are  these: 

“And  I  wanted  you  to  know  that  in  the  morning, 
when  we  knelt  in  prayer,  Frank  always  prayed  for 
you.” 


217 


A  Heart  Story 

And  now  I  understand!  There  were  times  when  I 
was  weak,  and  Frank’s  prayers  made  me  strong;  there 
were  times  when  I  should  have  failed,  hut  Frank’s 
prayers  made  me  sufficient  for  the  need.  He  came  in 
to  me  across  high  mountains  and  wide  prairies,  and 
every  morning  he  stood  by  my  side.  We  got  together 
by  way  of  the  Throne,  and  in  the  comradeship  there 
was  power. 

This  evening  at  the  setting  of  the  sun,  which  is  still 
shining  on  the  far-away  grave  of  the  splendid  fellow 
God  took  off  my  prayer-list,  I  begin  to  know  what  the 
wise  man  meant  when  he  said,  “He  that  winneth  souls 
is  wise.” 


28 


“HE  DID  IT!” 

Text:  St.  John  10:10.  “I  am  come  that 
they  might  have  life.” 

A  great  crowd  filled  the  Canadian  Pacific  railroad 
station  at  Winnipeg,  Manitoba,  on  a  February  morning 
in  1915  when  the  writer  hurried  into  the  waiting-room 
and  made  inquiries  about  his  train.  Wounded  soldiers 
from  “over-seas”  were  expected,  and  their  loved  ones 
and  friends  were  waiting  tremulously  to  receive  them. 

We  stood  strangely  thrilled  to  see  the  glad  reunion. 
There  were  cheers  and  tears  and  there  was  laughter — 
these  latter  two  are  so  close  that  in  a  supreme  moment 
they  always  mingle — when  the  lads  in  khaki  came 
through  the  gate.  Ah,  what  a  scene  it  was!  Broken 
bodies  gathered  into  the  embrace  of  mothers  who  had 
waited  so  long,  drawn  faces  covered  with  the  kisses  of 
sisters  and  sweethearts,  wearied  forms  borne  away  in 
the  arms  of  fathers  and  brothers. 

There  were  times  when  I  could  not  see  for  my  weep¬ 
ing — and  no  man  was  so  weak  as  to  wipe  his  tears 
away.  The  pegging  of  the  crutches,  the  crying  and 
the  shouting  flowed  together  in  a  great  “Amen.” 

A  little  group  close  by  me  especially  attracted  my 
attention.  A  mother  and  father  and  three  sisters — or 
perhaps  one  was  more  than  a  sister — welcomed  a  lan¬ 
guid  fellow  who,  while  his  body  bore  no  visible  hurt, 
told  of  the  awful  gases  with  twitching  muscles  and 

sunken  chest.  How  the  boy — he  was  hardly  twenty — 

218 


“He  Bid  Itr 


219 


drank  them  in,  and  how  their  eyes,  after  the  riot  of  the 
first  greeting,  devoured  him!  For  a  long  moment  they 
stood  in  a  silence  that  was  in  effect  the  mightiest 
shont. 

And  then  the  soldier  turned,  and  cried  eagerly: 
“Jim, — where  is  Jim?  Jim,  old  chap!”  And  Jim 
was  hard  by.  I  had  noticed  him  before  as  he  came 
hobbling  through  the  gate  with  our  friend  whose  loved 
ones  had  so  quickly  seized  him.  A  leg  gone  close 
against  his  body,  he  had  been  leaning  heavily  upon  his 
crutch,  looking — wistfully,  I  thought — at  the  little 
group  that  swallowed  up  his  companion.  Ho  one  had 
come  to  meet  him. 

At  the  calling  of  his  name  he  smiled  and  took  a  step 
forward,  and  then  happened  one  of  the  most  dramatic 
incidents  that  I  have  ever  seen.  The  boy  with  the 
hollow  cheeks  reached  his  hands  toward  the  crippled 
soldier ;  his  face  flushed  until  it  was  afire ;  and  he  said, 
“He  did  it,  mother;  he  did  it.”  With  a  cry  that  no 
words  have  yet  been  found  to  express,  that  mother 
swept  across  the  space  between  her  and  the  friend  of 
her  boy,  put  her  arms  about  him,  crutch  and  all,  and 
kissed  him  as  she  had  kissed  her  own  son.  Hor  were 
the  father  and  the  sisters  far  behind.  It  was  as  though 
the  first  scene  of  a  great  human  tragedy  had  been  acted 
again.  Over  and  over  that  great-bodied  father  ex¬ 
claimed  :  “God  bless  you,  sir !  God  bless  you,  sir ! 
God  bless  you!” 

Here  is  the  story.  It  was  the  first  days  of  the  gas¬ 
sing  on  the  Somme.  One  morning,  after  several  hours 
of  preparatory  shelling,  the  battalion  of  which  these 
two  young  men  were  members  was  ordered  out  of  the 
trenches  and  across  “Ho-man’s-land”  to  take  the  Ger¬ 
man  position  directly  in  front. 


220 


What  Men  Need  Most 


But  there  was  no  chance.  The  artillery  had  not  com¬ 
pleted  its  work.  The  wire  entanglements  still  barred 
the  way.  The  young  Canadians  with  their  cutters  and 
with  their  bare  hands  vainly  tore  at  them,  hurling  their 
poor  bodies  hopelessly  into  their  barbed  mazes.  The 
machine  guns  poured  in  a  very  vomit  of  steel, — and 
then  came  the  gas ! 

Close  along  the  ground  rolled  that  merciless  cloud; 
with  fiendish  cunning  it  filled  every  depression,  seek¬ 
ing  out  the  wounded  that  had  fallen,  and  giving  them 
a  grave-shroud  from  the  very  torture-room  of  hell. 

The  broken  remnant  of  the  battalion  was  called  back 
to  its  trench.  It  was  then  that  Jim,  turning  as  he 
rolled  to  safety,  heard  his  friend  scream,  and  saw  him 
plunge  headlong  into  the  awful  fumes.  With  a  mad 
fury  he  tore  off  his  shirt — it  was  before  the  masks  came 
— ripped  it  through,  bound  it  about  his  face,  and  be¬ 
fore  the  hands  of  his  comrades  could  restrain  him  he 
sprang  again  into  the  open,  straight  into  the  gas  and 
shell. 

It  was  all  over  in  a  moment.  Like  a  wild  animal 
Jim  came  crawling  back,  dragging  his  comrade.  He. 
could  not  walk,  for  his  right  leg  had  been  mangled 
horribly  in  that  first  mad  leap;  but  back  he  came! 
“He  did  it !  He  did  it  !” 

Ah,  I  shall  never  forget  that  morning  in  Winnipeg! 

To-day  I  am  thinking  of  the  glad  reunion  when  the 
mother  took  again  her  son  and  poured  out  the  grati¬ 
tude  of  her  heart  upon  his  saviour.  And  in  thinking 
of  them  I  have  come  to  think  of  that  other  soldier,  that 
other  saviour,  the  Saviour  of  the  world,  who  gave  not 
a  limb,  but  His  life,  to  bear  me,  to  bear  us  all,  back 
to  the  trench  of  safety.  Ah!  “He  did  it!  He  did 
it !  He  did  it !” 


29 


MY  FIRST  PRAYER 

Text:  St.  Matthew  11:24.  “What  things 
soever  ye  desire ,  when  ye  pray,  believe  that  ye 
receive  them  and  ye  shall  have  them  ” 

I  do  not  remember  when  I  began  to  pray.  I  lisped 
that  prayer  at  my  mother’s  knee,  and  the  bedside  peti¬ 
tion  was  fixed  in  my  life  before  the  days  of  my  earliest 
recollections.  But  I  very  vividly  remember  my  first 
prayer. 

I  was  a  junior  in  college  at  the  time,  and  as  the 
result  of  a  local  oratorical  contest  had  been  selected 
to  represent  my  institution  in  the  State  oratorical 
contest. 

On  Tuesday,  three  days  before  the  night  of  the  great 
event,  which  on  this  occasion  was  to  take  place  in  our 
own  city,  I  became  violently  ill  with  chills  and  fever. 
The  doctor  diagnosed  the  case  as  grippe,  with  a  strong 
inclination  toward  pneumonia,  the  result  of  a  very 
foolish  bicycle  ride  too  early  in  the  season,  which  re¬ 
sulted  in  ever-exertion  and  over-heating. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  expression  of  disappoint¬ 
ment  that  clouded  my  professor’s  face  as  he  stood  look¬ 
ing  down  upon  me,  the  wreck  of  his  oratorical  hopes. 
My  own  chagrin  and  self-chiding  were  harder  to  bear 
than  the  physical  hurt,  for  I  knew  how  intense  the  dis¬ 
appointment  of  my  college  associates  would  be  when 

they  learned  that  through  my  carelessness  the  institu- 

221 


222 


What  Men  Need  Most 


tion  we  loved  would  not  be  represented  in  the  contest 
that  she  was  to  entertain. 

Ah,  how  black  a  night  that  Tuesday  night  was !  In 
the  moments  between  delirious  dreams  I  thought  of 
Friday,  and  every  dream  was  a  nightmare  in  which 
angry  students  rolled  great  weights  upon  me. 

Early  on  Wednesday  morning  my  small  white  dog 
crept  into  my  arms,  and  shoved  her  moist  nose  under 
my  chin.  She  was  a  real  comforter.  Impulsively  I 
dropped  my  hand  on  her  head.  As  I  did  so,  I  turned 
slightly,  and  my  eyes  rested  upon  an  old-fashioned 
green  wall-motto,  lettered  in  silver,  that  hung  just 
above  the  wainscoting,  directly  across  the  room.  I  do 
not  remember  that  I  had  ever  noticed  that  motto  be¬ 
fore.  The  words  of  the  text  fastened  upon  my  feverish 
brain, — “ There  hath  not  failed  one  word  of  all  His 
good  promise.”  And  the  suggestion  flashed  through 
my  mind:  “Try  it  out.  Pray  for  another  chance,  a 
fighting  chance.”  Without  a  single  mental  reserva¬ 
tion,  I  floundered  over  on  my  face  and  with  the  fever 
singing  in  my  ears  prayed. 

Ah,  if  ever  a  young  man  prayed,  I  prayed  that  morn¬ 
ing,  just  for  a  fighting  chance  to  represent  my  college 
on  Friday  night.  I  did  not  pray  for  victory;  for  other 
men  and  other  colleges  were  to  be  considered,  but  I  did 
pray  for  strength  to  command  my  wabbling  limbs  and 
for  nerve  to  go  through  with  my  oration  somehow.  It 
was  no  formal  supplication  that  I  made,  and  there  was 
no  searching  for  choice  phrases  and  pleasing  sentences. 
The  call  that  went  out  from  my  soul  that  morning  was 
an  unstripped  appeal  for  help. 

There  on  that  cot  in  the  old  sitting-room  at  home, 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  “prayed  through.” 


223 


My  First  Prayer 

When  assurance  came,  and  it  did  come  as  clearly  and 
unmistakably  as  the  doctor  came  a  few  minutes  later, 
I  knew  that  I  should  deliver  my  oration.  The  physi¬ 
cian  laughed  and  humoured  me  when  I  told  him,  and 
then  reached  down  for  my  pulse.  Other  friends  were 
sure  that  it  was  a  mere  whim  of  the  delirium.  But  I 
knew.  Mother  believed,  and  the  dear  old  professor 
understood. 

Wednesday  was  a  very  trying  day;  Thursday  was 
easier ;  but  on  Triday  morning  I  was  utterly  miserable. 
For  the  first  time  since  the  message  of  the  old  green 
card  had  given  me  new  hope,  I  was  despairing.  But 
again  my  eyes  turned  to  the  motto,  and  the  silver  words 
fairly  leaped  across  the  room  to  me,  “There  hath  not 
failed  one  word  of  all  His  good  promise.”  And  I  slid 
to  the  floor,  and  gripped  that  rock  of  truth  as  a  drown¬ 
ing  man  lays  hold  upon  the  offered  line  of  escape. 

When  the  doctor  came,  he  found  my  fever  broken. 
He  was  very  much  surprised,  and  said  that  the  sudden 
subsiding  of  the  temperature  accounted  for  my  un¬ 
usual  weakness.  I  reminded  him  that  it  was  Friday ; 
and  then  he  resolutely  shook  his  head,  and  gave  me 
an  unconditional  refusal.  But  I  went  through  the 
day  with  the  words,  “There  hath  not  failed  one  word 
of  all  His  good  promise,”  strengthening  me;  and  at 
five  o’clock  in  the  afternoon  I  sent  for  the  doctor 
again.  This  time  he  heard  my  ultimatum,  and  I  was 

fullv  attired  when  I  delivered  it. 

€/ 

Like  the  good  fellow  he  was — for  he  loved  the  old 
school  too — he  set  to  work  to  help  the  Almighty  get 
me  in  shape  for  my  fifteen  minutes  on  the  platform. 
The  drawing  had  placed  me  first ;  there  were  six  speak¬ 
ers,  and  the  man  of  science  nursed  nature  along  to 


224 


What  Men  Need  Most 


have  me  as  strong  as  I  could  possibly  be  on  the 
minute,  and  if  possible  strong  enough  to  go  through 
that  crucial  quarter  of  an  hour. 

But  the  arm  that  I  leaned  upon  that  night  was  not 
the  arm  of  the  doctor,  and  it  was  not  the  arm  of  the 
dear  old  professor,  much  as  he  meant  to  me.  And 
when  I  finally  got  to  the  platform,  and  for  an  instant 
the  lights  went  out,  and  a  wall  of  blackness  was  be¬ 
fore  my  eyes,  it  was  “There  hath  not  failed  one  word 
of  all  His  good  promise/7  that  turned  the  lights  on 
again. 

I  went  through  the  fifteen  minutes,  and  walked  off 
the  stage  and  out  of  sight  before  I  collapsed.  God 
kept  His  word;  I  had  offered  up  my  first  prayer;  for 
the  first  time  in  my  life  I  had  prayed  through,  and 
ever  after  I  was  to  have  the  assurance  of  the  vital  fact 
of  intercession. 

Many  times  since  that  day  when  I  tossed  in  pain 
upon  the  couch  in  the  sitting-room  back  at  college  I 
have  turned  my  eyes  to  the  old  green  wall-motto  and 
it  has  never  failed  me.  From  that  day  to  this  I  have 
not  doubted  my  right  to  have  an  answer  to  every 
prayer.  The  desired  answer  has  not  always  come. 
Many  prayers  have  been  answered  in  the  negative,  and- 
some  answers  have  been  long  delayed;  but  in  times  of 
spiritual  stress,  when  doubts  troubled,  and  discourag¬ 
ing  fears  all  but  defeated  faith,  as  well  as  in  those 
more  numerous  even  days  when  hope  held  an  open 
way,  the  message  of  the  old  green  card  has  triumphed. 

Yesterday  I  came  upon  the  motto  at  the  bottom  of 
a  battered  trunk  that  I  was  preparing  for  cremation. 
I  found  it  packed  away  with  basket-ball  posters,  a  pair 
of  running  “spikes/7  two  white  gloves  that  my  mother 


225 


My  First  Prayer 

never  wore,  and  an  old  papier-mache  horseshoe  that 
reminded  me  of  an  athletic  struggle  in  far-away 
Seattle. 

This  morning  I  brought  the  card  to  the  city,  and 
had  it  framed.  I  have  a  place  for  it  on  the  wall  of 
the  living  room  where  my  children  play. 


30 

A  FATHER’S  DILEMMA 

CHESTNUTTING  WITH  THE  BOYS  YS.  THE  WORLDS 

SERIES  ALONE 

Text:  Philippiaxs  1:23.  “For  I  am  in  a 
strait  betwixt  two !” 

It  was  the  morning  of  Thursday,  October  12,  1916, 
in  Boston,  Massachusetts, — Boston,  famous  for  a  hun¬ 
dred  shrines  of  American  history,  and  distinguished 
as  the  greatest  educational,  literary  and  musical 
centre  of  the  Xew  World,  but  on  that  day  “stark  mad” 
with  baseball  enthusiasm. 

The  “Bed  Sox”  had  soundly  trounced  the  Brooklyn 
“ Trolley-Dodgers”  on  the  preceding  day  in  the  fourth 
game  of  the  post-season  series  for  the  world’s  cham¬ 
pionship.  All  fandom, — and  this  title  includes  pretty 
nearly  all  the  one  hundred  and  ten  million  inhabitants 
of  the  United  States  and  Canada — was  breathing  in 
short,  staccato  gasps  and  waiting  for  the  umpire  to 
announce  the  rival  batteries  for  the  last  game. 

The  day  was  flawless,  an  open  sky  without  a  cloud; 
air  crisp  without  being  sharp,  and  a  sun  that  gave 
every  blushing  leaf  an  added  tinge  of  gold. 

I  sat  in  the  office  busied  with  some  of  the  extras 

that  would  not  respect  even  a  holiday.  With  unusual 

226 


A  Father's  Dilemma 


227 


deliberation  I  signed  my  letters ;  and  finally,  with  the 
small  tasks  all  done,  I  settled  back  for  a  finish  fight 
with  myself. 

I  wanted  to  see  that  game.  Every  passing  moment 
added  to  my  desire  and  increased  the  fever  in  my 
blood.  But  it  was  a  holiday,  a  day  when  the  feet  of 
children  do  not  tramp  the  corridors  of  schoolhouses ; 
and  this  particular  holiday  was  the  first  of  the  year 
with  chestnuts  on  the  ground. 

I  knew  that  two  small  boys  and  their  wee  sister  were 
waiting  in  the  hall  at  home  for  the  telephone  bell  to 
ring  and  for  a  man’s  voice  to  say:  “Hello,  there;  get 
your  sweaters  on;  have  the  buckets  ready.  I  will  be 
out  on  the  one  o’clock.” 

And  then  the  telephone  took  my  attention,  and  an 
impatient  man  yelled  in  my  ear :  “Hey,  you !  Do  you 
want  this  ticket  ?  There  are  seventeen  thousand  insane 
men  and  boys  trying  to  take  it  away  from  me.  Speak 
quick,  or  I  shall  be  assassinated.” 

It  was  my  friend  talking,  and  he  was  holding  a  place 
for  me  to  the  last  moment. 

The  fight  was  all  over,  for  I  said  in  a  voice  of  sub¬ 
lime  hypocrisy:  “Sorry,  old  chap;  but  I  have  an  im¬ 
portant  engagement.  ALany  thanks.  I  will  do  as 
much  for  you  another  time.” 

I  made  the  “one  o’clock”  after  edging  through  the 
crowds  bound  for  the  Braves’  Eield.  Trying  to  feel 
cheerful,  I  found  a  seat.  The  car  was  not  crowded 
going  out !  At  the  Back  Bay  an  old  man  came  in,  and 
with  a  cry  of  amazement  dropped  down  by  my  side. 
After  carefully  adjusting  his  glasses  he  sized  me  up, 
and  then  said  with  fine  scorn : 

“Well,  I  thought  that  every  man  on  the  verdant  side 
of  seventy  and  not  under  legal  restraint  was  on  his 


228 


What  Men  Need  Most 


way  to  the  ball-game.  You  are  not  seventy,  and  you 
don’t  look  like  an  escaped  inmate.” 

I  replied:  “Your  diagnosis  is  correct  and  compli¬ 
mentary.  I  am  going  chestnutting  with  my  boys.” 

The  old  man  dropped  his  jester  tone,  lost  the  banter 
from  his  eye,  and  said  brusquely:  “Sir,  I  would  give 
a  million  dollars  for  the  chance  to  go  chestnutting  with 
my  boys.  I  used  to  dream  of  that  sort  of  thing, — but 
the  boys  never  came.” 

We  sat  in  an  understanding  silence  for  the  twenty 
minutes  that  elapsed  before  the  conductor  shouted, 
“Yewton,”  and  the  old  man  dropped  off. 

There  was  length  to  my  stride  and  a  spring  in  my 
step  when  I  turned  into  my  own  street,  and  with  the 
indescribable  thrill  that  a  man  never  knows  until  the 
fingers  of  his  little  ones  rest  convulsively  in  his  hands 
I  greeted  the  children  as  they  came  shouting  to  meet 
me.  Such  a  bedlam  of  voices !  Yo  chance  for  a  single 
minute  of  postponement.  Without  changing  a  thread 
I  was  off  to  the  woods. 

What  an  afternoon  it  was !  I  lost  my  fountain  pen, 
and  accumulated  a  stock  of  thistle  burrs  larger  than  I 
gathered  of  chestnuts.  A  club  from  the  hands  of  my 
first-born,  on  its  return  trip  from  the  upper  reaches 
of  a  tree,  contributed  a  lump  on  the  top  of  my  head 
to  the  miscellaneous  collection  of  the  day. 

Coming  home,  the  “little  lady”  lost  one  of  her  shoes, 
and  with  tearful  intercession  beguiled  me  into  carry¬ 
ing  her.  We  were  late  for  supper,  and  I  was  too  tired 
to  eat  any  of  it.  The  children  were  sure  they  had  had 
a  glorious  time.  The  dining-room  sounded  like  a 
circus-tent,  and  with  each  voice  crowding  in  on  the 
others  the  three  told  their  mother  all  about  the  great 
adventure. 


A  Father's  Dilemma 


229 


Any  regrets  that  might  have  troubled  me  earlier  in 
the  day  were  all  forgotten  when  one  of  the  lads,  hug- 
gins;  me  about  the  knees,  said  in  a  sudden  burst  of 
confidence,  ‘‘Daddy  is  all  right,  mother ;  feel  the  lump 
on  his  head.” 

In  the  morning  a  friend  with  malicious  enthusiasm 
gave  me  an  illuminated  description  of  the  game  I  had 
missed,  and  the  only  one  I  could  have  seen.  But  he 
was  disappointed.  My  lack  of  remorse  was  too  evi¬ 
dently  unaffected  and  too  genuinely  sincere  as  I  said, 
“Well,  I  went  chestnutting  with  the  children.  Feel 
the  lump  on  my  head !” 


31 


THE  LAND  OF  TIME  ENOUGH 

Text:  I  Corixthians  7:29.  “The  time  is 
short/' 

I  know  a  land  of  vast  and  silent  places,  a  land  where 
mountains,  pine-clad  and  well-watered,  break  up  into 
foothills  and  go  down  to  meet  the  desert;  where  the 
cottonwoods  mingle  with  the  pihons  and  cedars,  and 
the  sage  grows  rank  on  the  mesas ;  a  land  of  all- 
encircling  and  never-failing  sunlit  skies,  of  sunsets 
that  fling  upward  all  the  colours  of  the  spectrum  in 
faultless  blendings  to  light  the  sapphire  dome  of  God’s 
own  Taj  Mahal,  and  where  the  moon,  like  a  galleon  of 
enchantment,  floats  upon  a  shoreless  silver  sea. 

A  land  of  yesterday,  whose  forests  are  frozen  in 
crystal  and  preserved  in  agate,  where  the  paths  of 
Coronado  follow  down  a  beaten  way  of  peoples  whose 
cliff  castles  were  old  when  Egypt  raised  her  pyramids. 

A  land  of  to-morrow,  where  presently  a  golden  sea 
will  flow  across  the  sands  and  where  orchard  isles  will 
raise  their  emerald  shores  above  the  flood  of  grain. 

Here  one  may  see  the  children  of  the  past,  a  garish 
remnant  of  a  race,  and  feel  the  furtive  eyes  of  wild 
things  that  steal  away  along  the  trail.  Here  one  may 
lose  himself  and  dream. 

Stand  there  upon  some  lava  hill,  and  look  away  a 

hundred  miles  into  the  south.  A  blue  haze  marks  a 

tree-fringed  crest,  where  eagles  soar  along  the  desert 

230 


231 


The  Land  of  Time  Enough 

rim.  Beyond  is  what  the  Indians  called  a  garden  of 
the  gods,  and  our  fathers,  when  they  first  beheld  it,  “A 
valley  of  paradise.”  Streams  flow  from  hidden  death¬ 
less  springs.  Rich  grasses  grow  along  the  floor  of 
flowered,  deep  ravines.  There  are  forests,  nut-hearing 
vines,  wild  fruits,  and  half  a  hundred  kinds  of  game. 
As  the  wild  life  of  the  alkali  desert  seeks  the  scant 
shade  of  the  rocks  and  moistens  its  parched  throat  with 
the  slime  of  the  brackish  pool,  it  turns  its  burning  eyes 
toward  the  rim  of  that  valley;  and  man,  caught  in  the 
dread  heat  of  the  plain,  rides  hard  through  the  night 
to  bring  his  beast  to  its  rich  meadows  and  himself  to 
its  fruits  and  its  rest. 

The  tale  runs  that  in  times  past  only  those  found  the 
trail  that  leads  below  who  had  not  finished  their  ride, 
who  had  yet  much  distance  to  cover,  but  who  were 
spent  with  the  heat  and  done  nigh  to  the  death.  These 
found  the  way,  and  to  these  came  the  strength  to  finish 
their  course.  Strange  to  relate,  all  who  ever  came  out 
of  the  valley  lived  forever,  and  were  forever  unhurried. 

There  is  another  Paradise  Valley  lying  just  over  the 
rim,  and  I  have  named  it  the  Land  of  Time  Enough. 

Erom  the  heat  of  the  day,  from  the  toil  and  the 
grind,  from  the  long  hours  of  pain,  from  the  disap¬ 
pointment  and  sorrow,  from  the  deep  mystery  of  hu¬ 
man  existence,  I  lift  my  eyes  where  the  eagles  soar 
over  the  crest,  and  ride  on  toward  the  Land  of  Time 
Enough. 

Time  enough  to  do  the  many  things  we  never  yet 
have  touched ;  time  enough  to  finish  all  those  things 
that  are  but  half-begun ;  time  enough  to  read  the  books 
that  call  to  us  from  out  their  shelves,  to  sit  before  the 
pictures  we  have  hurried  by,  to  hear  the  master  songs 
we  never  yet  have  heard;  time  enough  to  romp  with 


232 


What  Men  Need  Most 


children  down  their  paths  of  play;  to  listen  to  the 
dreams  of  daughters  and  the  hopes  of  sons;  to  ramble 
in  the  fields  of  memory  with  those  we  “lost  awhile’’; 
to  know  our  friends;  time  enough  to  walk  with  kings 
of  thought,  to  talk  with  Christ;  time  enough  to  do 
and  dare,  to  live  and  love. 

This  is 


The  land  toward  which  I  ride, 

The  land  beyond  the  rim, 

Beyond  the  Great  Divide, 

The  land  of  “Enter  In.” 

And  I  hear  the  voice  that  answers  all  my  questions  say, 
“Let  not  your  heart  he  troubled.  ...  In  my  Bather’s 
house  are  many  mansions.  .  .  .  I  go  to  prepare  a  place 
for  you.” 

This  is  the  Land  of  Time  Enough. 


/ 


THE  END 


t 


Date  Due 

'  -'V 

T  "  /  •  3)4 

“Fxctrtrn 

if  ft  st  •  ^  y «y  ^ 

4 

* 

■  -  ’  "  I 

• 

i 


